Azure
by G.Reaper
Summary: On the stage of history, one man stands out as both a hero and demon. The chronicles of Siegfried, from his early life to his final days.
1. Prologue

**Azure**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Soul game series, they are the property of Namco. **

_Right, let's try this again, shall we? Third time's the charm after all, so maybe this time I can write something I can stick to and maybe even like._

_This is G. Reaper, fan-fic author and sporadic reader. I aim to make this a novel, full length if possible, as the biography of Siegfried Schtauffen, the generally accepted main character of the Soul series. This humble fic hopes to chronicle his life, from birth through SCIII, including Soul Edge, and a possible ending given as much canon as possible. Reviews appreciated, if you would be so kind. _

_Note: I'm going to mix a bunch of religious legends in this fic, because I want to. _)

**Prologue**

**_For untold millennia, this world has been one of continual strife and discord. People lie, hurt and kill to satisfy their desires, however cruel or evil they may be._ **

_**The Gods of Light, who created humanity to be pure, were disgusted by mans' untold multitudes of sins. They decided to destroy mankind, with the exception of but one righteous man and his family. **_

_**They sent a flood to purify the world of mans' evil, and guided the man to safety on top of the Tree of Life, Yggdrasil. There he and his family was safe until the floods receded, returning to land only when the last of the waters were gone. **_

_**Thus a new race of men was descended from the man, and humanity was prosperous and kind. They were in every way better than their predecessors, and the Gods were pleased. **_

_**But the Gods of Darkness were not pleased. They reveled in the pain and suffering of humans, for they preferred it when the world was populated by the monsters and creatures of their own design. To avenge their fall from power, the Gods of Darkness created one last evil, one the Gods of Light had never forseen; war. **_

_**The Gods of Darkness found it perfect. War turned friend against friend, brother to brother, and all manner of terrible sins could be unleashed simultaneously. The Gods of Darkness turned their attention to bringing this great evil to Earth. **_

_**They found a young man, busy at his forge. He was a blacksmith who made farm tools for his village, but he was dissatisfied with his work; he found it unglamorous. The Gods of Darkness saw this seed of evil in the man's soul, and coaxed it to grow. They spoke to him, whispering beautiful lies into his ears. They told him to take a piece of iron from his forge and cast it into the fire. They instructed him to forge the iron into what resembled a giant knife to the man, who made it nonetheless because he found its shape beautiful. After three days without sleep in his forge, he emerged holding the worlds' first sword. The Gods of Darkness embedded the sword with their malice, and named it the Soul Edge, as it was so sharp it could cut to and corrupt a man's very soul. **_

_**The smithy who forged the sword brought it to show to his wife, who found it terrifying. She weeped and cried aloud, begging her husband to cast it back into the fire. **_

_**The smithy was at first confused, but quickly grew angry at his wife's lack of pride and support. He grew so enraged that he struck her with the sword Soul Edge, which slew her instantly. **_

_**His rage multiplied, and he slew the rest of his village in turn. Others grew afraid of this man, and the Gods of Darkness exploited their fear. They gave the secret of swords to those who feared, and they quickly forged other weapons, along with armor to protect themselves from this new phenomenon. **_

_**The villagers who had weapons found the man and killed him, but not without losing many people. They were awed at the sword Soul Edge's power, and each longed to possess it themselves. Friend turned on friend, brother to brother; women were raped and killed, children orphaned and left abandoned in the wilderness to be eaten by the beasts. **_

_**The Gods of Light looked upon their world, once again plagued by sin. They grew angry, for they could not undo this sin the Gods of Darkness had unleashed. **_

"_**If we cannot remove this sin directly, then let man remove it himself!" the Gods of Light said. "Never will we destroy the Earth again, so man must save himself!"**_

_**In mockery of the Gods of Darkness, the Gods of Light concentrated their essence and forged their own sword. They named it Soul Calibur, for it would judge the soul of the man who wielded it and purify him. **_

_**They found a righteous man and bestowed the sword Soul Calibur to him. The man, backed by the power of Gods, found the man who wielded Soul Edge, which in its malice had consumed souls to increase its power enough to rival the Gods themselves. Soul Calibur shattered Soul Edge, ending the lives of the men who wielded each of the swords. Thus the first War of the Blades ended, but the Gods of Darkness had triumphed in their original goal: to taint mankind. **_

_**As centuries passed, pieces of Soul Edge were collected by people unlucky enough to spy them. The shards bestowed power to their owners, but the weapon itself was the most powerful of all. One person would collect enough pieces to reform Soul Edge, and the malice of the blade would consume the person's soul utterly. The person would rampage upon the world, slaying friend and foe alike to find the pieces of the cursed weapon. The souls of those cut down served to boost the weapon's power, and over centuries the weapon gained a will of its own. However, Soul Calibur always rose, wielded by the righteous, to shatter Soul Edge again and again. **_

_**Despite Soul Edge's evil effect, people still revered it as the most powerful object on the Earth. The Sword of Heroes, some called it. As more and more time passed, the connection between the Sword of Heroes and Soul Edge was lost, until the name Soul Edge was mostly forgotten. Only the mythical Sword of Heroes remained, with Soul Calibur fading into the shadows. **_

**_Time passed ever more, until the 17th century CE. Many now seek the Sword of Heroes to bring honor and power to their families and themselves. Those few who know the truth are ignored. It is in this era that a young man would seek the evil blade, become its servant, and ultimately break free and destroy Soul Edge for all time. _**

_**Welcome...to the stage, of history. **_


	2. Origins

**Azure**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Soul game series, they are the property of Namco.**

_Right, here's the first chapter, real chapter at least. Still prolog-y though, as there's no real action. It's get to know little Siegfried time! Another thanks to ShadowRonin, the first reviewer. He wins...nothing. But YOU might!_**  
**

**Part One: Youth**

**I: Origins**

"Come on now, Siegfried! Bring your guard up!"

The young blonde-haired boy panted heavily, sweating in his leather armor. Although he was only ten years old, his father Frederick was already training him in the sword styles of Germany, specifically the zweihander. Of course, Siegfried was far too small to use a proper zweihander, so he was using a large tree branch, specially crafted by his father.

"Are you ready, boy? Here I come!" Frederick Schtauffen called. The elder Schtauffen stood at 5'7", weighing about 168 lbs. Unlike his son, his hair was brown and short, and he wore a full beard. His body was compact and muscular, and except for minor details looked much like his son. Frederick wielded a stick similar to his son's, put the power with which he used it was almost overbearing for the young Siegfried. Raising his stick, Siegfried prepared for the next attack.

Frederick rushed at his son, raising his stick up for a vertical strike. Young Siegfried anticipated the strike, dodging to the side and countering with a horizontal strike at his father's legs. Unfortunately, Frederick was too quick for his son. He neatly parried the attack and brought his stick down upon his son's unguarded head with a loud "_thwack!"_

Siegfried fell to one knee, gasping for breath and trying not to cry. He wanted his father to be proud of him, to see him as a man. Siegfried knew that men never cried. Wincing and wheezing he rose shakily to his feet, never once taking his eyes off his father.

Frederick looked sternly down at his son. He raised his stick once again, preparing for another vertical strike. This time Siegfried parried the attack and, before even his father could react, delivered a swift punch to his father's gut.

Normally, such an attack could never phase Frederick Schtauffen, but the man instantly collapsed to one knee, then into a prone position, gasping for breath. "My God!" Frederick cried, "I never knew you had grown so powerful, Siegfried!" Frederick tried to stand but immediately fell again.

"You've beaten me, son." Frederick said softly, smiling at his only son. Siegfried at first only looked on in stunned silence, but he quickly broke into a smile.

"Yaay! I beat you, poppa!" Siegfried cried, leaping upon his prostrate father.

"Ha ha ha! That you did, son! Well done!" Frederick laughed, rolling about on the ground with his son, each filled with feelings of pride and love.

After a while they stood, father and son. The large bump on Siegfried's head was long forgotten as he looked at his father in awe. His father looked down at him and smiled.

"You're becoming a fine young man, Siegfried." Frederick said, ruffling Siegfried's long blonde hair. "I'm sure you can protect your mother, am I right?"

Seigfried nodded assuredly. "Of course, poppa! You can count on me!"

Frederick laughed softly. "I'm sure I can..." he said. He then set off from their training spot, a small grove on the edge of the woods bordering the little village. Siegfried trailed after him, trying to match his steps in his father's footsteps in the mud.

The village, known as Halden, was located in the southern lands of Germany. It was not particularly well known except by seasoned travelers, who often went through it to get to the larger towns in Germany's middle lands. The village was home to roughly 600 people, and prided itself on its hospitality to guests with its excellent inn. The smell of fresh bread and beer wafted through the village streets, as the evening sun cast long shadows on the stone houses. The clucking of chickens and the clatter of the occasional wagon were all that could be heard. The town was just big enough for not everyone to know everyone, and new residents moved in every few months. For Frederick and his father and his father before him, Halden was home, and it was Siegfried's, as well.

Frederick and his young son walked through the streets, making their way to their house near the middle of town. On their they passed the butcher's shop, where the huge man was busy cutting up a pig for salting. He was big and balding, with a large red nose and small eyes. As father and son passed by, the butcher looked up from his work in time to notice them.

"Ah, Frederick! How are you this fine evening?" the butcher asked jovially in his big voice.

Frederick turned to the butcher, smiling.

"Oh, just fine Isaac! I was so tired out from practicing with my son that I completely forgot to stop by."

"Well, then you're lucky I caught you! What'll it be today? I've got the season's first salted pork ready to go, plus some beef and fresh-caught trout." The great butcher reached under his stall and pulled several large trout up onto the counter next to the pork.

Frederick looked critically at the fish. "I don't know, Isaac, these fish don't look too fresh to me..."

"Ha! Your eye is as sharp as ever, Frederick! They were in fact caught this morning, but I've got a few live ones inside in the barrels."

"Excellent! I'll take two of those, then!" Frederick said, before adding to his son, "Would you like to pick them out, Siegfried?"

"OK, poppa! I'll find the biggest ones!" Siegfried cried happily, and rushed past the butcher to grab two fish while the adults worked out the price.

After a few minutes father and son finally neared their home, a large fish slung over each of their backs. Frederick approached the door and gave a knock before entering.

"We're home, Margaret!" Frederick called out, setting the fish down on the table in the middle of the room. Young Siegfried followed suit before rushing to the little kitchen where his mother was busy cutting potatoes for the night's supper. "Momma! Momma! Today we bought two huge fishes and Mr. Isaac let me pick them and I BEAT POPPA! I _really _did it!"

"Is that so, little one?" Margaret Schtauffen asked, crouching to hug her son warmly. "Now go change out of your training clothes, dinner will be ready in just a little bit." But before she could even finish speaking Siegfried had already rushed to his clothing basket and pulled out a little tunic with matching pants.

The Schtauffen's home was neither large nor well furnished: it had but three rooms; a dining room, a bedroom for the family and room for any guest who may show up. Their furnishing consisted of a wooden table with five chairs, a stew pot, a smaller table where Margaret cooked, and the two beds. Out-back was a laundry tub and scrubbing board, and a bench where Frederick Schtauffen sat and carved. He was both a furniture-maker and warrior, and everything in the house was made by him. Each night the home was filled with the laughter of a child and glow of the cooking fire.

Frederick took the fish out back and gutted and cleaned them, then cut them into pieces small enough to make a stew. Along with potatoes, carrots and a little basil Margaret made a fish stew with fresh bread and cheese. When dinner was over, Frederick asked what story Frederick wanted to hear that evening.

"Oh, poppa! Tell the story of King Claudius and the Sword of Heroes!" Siegfried cried.

"Now dear, I don't want you filling that child's head with more tales of war!" Margaret scolded. "You do enough damage with your training exercises everyday!"

"Come now, Margaret. The boy wants to be a warrior, and if he wants to he needs to know these stories," Frederick answered. "He's almost 11; in just a few more years he will be of age. I doubt it'll do any harm."

Margaret just rolled her eyes and sighed before returning to her cleaning. "Can I hear it, poppa? Please?" Siegfried asked quietly.

Frederick smiled. "Of course, son," he said. Siegfried gasped with pleasure and rushed to sit at his father's feet, near the fire. He always sat here to hear his father's stories, where he would fall asleep with the warm fire near him as his father wove his tales again and again.

Frederick chuckled softly to himself before beginning his tale:

"Long ago, before you or I or my father or his father or his father was born, there lived a great king by the name of Claudius. He was the king of a faraway land where the land was always warm and the people never wanted for food or shelter. His kingdom was vast and peaceful, and they gained great wisdom and knowledge of the world.

"But one day, the sky turned black and a storm came. The next day, a huge host of barbarians appeared over the gray horizon. They were jealous of King Claudius' prosperity and wanted his kingdom for themselves. They terrorized Claudius' people, and the peace they had enjoyed was _shattered!_" Frederick brought his hand swiftly upon the table with a crash, making his son jump with fright and delight.

"Now, Claudius wanted his people to be rid of these barbarians, but had no means to do so. His army was long since disbanded, and his guard, while not lacking courage, were too few in number to stop the horde. So he set off to a far eastern land in search of the Sword of Heroes.

"He traveled all over, fighting vicious monsters and terrible demons, before coming to the temple of an ancient god. As he and his band of loyal men entered the temple, they were accosted by a demon!"

"Did it have great, sharp teeth, poppa?" Siegfried asked.

"Yes it did, son. And huge tearing claws. And big pounding feet. And a mouth so big he could _gobble you up_ in just one bite!

"But King Claudius showed no fear. 'Hear me, demon!' he said. 'I come for the Sword of Heroes, to protect my people from the barbarian hordes! Do you dare stand in my way?'

"'I do, King Claudius', the demon said. 'For the sword is mine! If you wish to possess it, then you must kill me!'

"'I accept your challenge, demon!' King Claudius roared. He attacked the demon with naught but his bare hands, pounding upon it with all of his mighty strength!

"The battle was fierce, but in the end King Claudius was victorious! He found the Sword of Heroes and brought it out of the cave, to the cheers of his men. The sword magically healed his wounds, and he stood as proud and powerful as the greatest of heroes' would.

""Now, my men! We return to rid our land of the barbarian scum!' King Claudius cried. The band returned to their home, and without a moment's hesitation threw themselves at the foe, though they were outnumbered by thousands.

"Everyone fought bravely, but none so much as King Claudius, who slew barbarians by their hundreds alone! After five days of fighting the barbarians were dead, down to the last man, and King Claudius' kingdom was saved!

"The Sword of Heroes granted King Claudius a long life indeed, and he ruled over his kingdom for a hundred years more! To this day no one knows where the Sword of Heroes has gone, but everyone knows one thing..."

Frederick looked down and saw his son asleep on the floor, curled in front of the fire like a cat. He smiled and picked him up, kissing his beloved wife and taking his son to his little cot in the family bedroom. Frederick covered his son with the blankets and patted his head, watching his son stir momentarily before turning over to face the wall.

Frederick smiled and walked to the door, lighting the little candle nearby to give a little light to the dark room.

"They know...that whenever a hero rises, the Sword of Heroes will seek them, as King Claudius sought it in turn."

And having ended his tale, Frederick Schtauffen closed the door.

_Ok, that's that. Next chapter still a little slow, but there will be a little more meat. _


	3. Change

**Azure**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Soul game series, they are the property of Namco.**

_Right. Here be the next chapter, of Siegfried's early teen years, and the events leading to the formation of the youth gang he would become the leader of._

Part One: Youth

**II: Change**

Years passed swiftly. Siegfried grew swiftly, passing from childhood to adolescence in what seemed to his parents like a heartbeat. He spent less and less time with his father and mother and more time with his friends, the other village boys. They were all between the ages of 12-16, and stuck close to one another, strolling in and around the village at all hours of the day and well into the night, when they weren't working their respective trades or training. The _Furher_ took young men into the army at age seventeen, where they served for ten years before being held on reserve duty until 50. As such, all boys were trained for combat at a young age, just as Siegfried had. Given his stocky build and natural stamina, he had chosen the zweihander, a massive double-handed sword, as his weapon of choice at age twelve.

Siegfried was now fourteen, coming into manhood steadily. His blonde hair grew long, his face no longer holding the cherubic pudgyness of a young boy but had developed the hard and handsome features of a man. The first growth was appearing on his chin and upper lip, and his voice had quickly deepened. His current interest in the opposite sex was playful, trying to steal kisses from the young village maidens for his acts of valor and strength. Otherwise, he was seen as a fairly polite and dutiful young man, and he appreciated his status.

About a month after Siegfried's thirteenth birthday, his friend Agar dropped by his home. He was an un-imposing thirteen year old, with short brown hair and a rather contagious smile. In Siegfried's closest circle of friends he was the comedian, always ready with a witty remark or a sharp taunt that would send the group rolling about in tears. In a fight he was quick and lithe, tripping up foes and darting about. His weapon of choice was a pair of twin daggers, which he loved to use for playful stunts as well as serious fighting.

"Oi, Siegfried!" Agar called, as Siegfried took another chop at the log his father was planning to use on another project. "What are you doing working? It's already past noon! Get out, see some sights!"

Siegfried halted his labors and put a leg on the leg, mopping the sweat from his brow. He'd known Agar long enough to know when he was just bugging someone and when he had something important to say, but was feeling too impatient to go through the usual bantering.

"Out with it, Agar. What's going on today?" he asked.

Agar gave his friend a rougish wink. "Oh...nothing that would interest _you_ I'm sure," Agar drawled. "Just a mildly interesting place, a trifle really. Nope, nope, nothing at all like a hideout, not a bit..."

"You found a hideout?" Siegfried cried, jumping from his spot and rushing to his friend. "Is it true? You really found a place? One none of the adults will suspect, where we can do as we please?" Siegfried asked desperately. For so long his friends had been forced to sit in the woods to play and talk, but now...

"Ask nothing more, Sieg. It's all figured out. Only you, me and Seldur know right now; I'll let the others know, too." His voiced quickly dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's at the abandoned farm on the southern edge of town, the one with the roof caving in. The Grieg's family was going to buy it but decided against it, so it's ours now. Meet their after sunset; tell your parents you're going to Old Myer's shack to fish in the morning, and mum's the word besides." Without a word more Agar winked again and slinked off quickly to inform the rest.

Siegfried wandered the town for a while in a daze, barely able to contain his excitement. He nearly stumbled into several people in his joy, trying to see how long he could wait before he had to see his parents. He couldn't wait long, and within minutes had returned to his home.

He came in to his father Frederick busily whittling at a small piece of wood, presumably a toy for a young village child. "Father!" Siegfried cried. "Agar and I want to go fishing with the old man tomorrow morning. Can we stay the night at his home, so we don't miss the dawn?"

His father stopped his work and looked at his son. He knew Siegfried could be sly, but he saw no ulterior motive in his son's hopeful face. With a patient sigh, he nodded.

"Yes! Thank you, father!" Siegfried said breathlessly, dashing to stuff a few clothes into a sack to carry with him. In moments he was prepared, and bolted out the doors of their little cottage.

Margaret came from the back yard, carrying a load of washing. "Has that boy gone off _again_, Frederick?" she asked angrily.

Frederick shrugged helplessly, and continued his work.

It was just approaching sundown when Siegfried approached the farm. It was located on a small hill to the west of the southern road leading into the village. The village building were obscured by trees, and the road stretched endlessly south to the dimming horizon. Siegfried took a moment to look around the hill. It was perfect; out of sight from almost all villagers, yet close enough so the boys could return home in a hurry. The forest sighed eerily in the wind, and Siegfried shivered. The air was already growing cold, so he quickly moved inside the dilapidated farm.

A fire greeted him in a hearth in the corner of the barn, crackling merrily. The stone floor was strewn with straw, a few industrious spiders made their homes in the rafters. A hayloft stood opposite the hearth, whereupon six boys sat playing a game of cards. Three more boys sat by the fire, and nine more, including Agar, sat a large wooden table nearby. Rucksacks lay piled on the ground near the door, which Siegfried noticed had recently been fitted with a deadbolt. To the left of the door lay scattered weapons; training tools the boys used daily in their sparring rounds. Siegfried happily noticed his wooden zweihander lay propped against the wall, next to a metal buckler and a long staff.

"Sieg! You finally made it!" Agar cried, leaping to his feet along with the other boys. They all shouted merrily together, pushing Siegfried forward to look around their communal home-away-from-home.

"We have bread, cheese, apples and beer", said a porky red-haired boy named Vincent. "Also a few legs of lamb I pinched from my Pa. Come sit by the fire; it's going to be cold tonight."

"You certainly won't be, Vince!" Agar cried. "Your fat self will be snug with your lard while the rest of us shiver the night away!" the other boys laughed at Vincent's expense, who grew a deep shade of red. He tried to give Agar a good sock in the gut, but the lithe lad quickly dodged around and began talking to Siegfried like nothing had happened.

"This place is marvelous, truly marvelous, Sieg!" Agar said quietly and happily.

"It really is, Agar," Siegfried agreed. "But I feel very hungry, and I would love a little beer." Siegfried suddenly rose his voice so all could hear. "Now that we are all men in this village, let's act like it! I may be new to lager, but I bet I can out-drink any of you here!" With that challenge, the boy's night of revelry commenced.

The older boys played at cards and chatted quietly of their sweethearts, bragging to each-other fiercely about the number of times they had lay with their ladies. The younger ones, however, immediately moved to the weapons in the corner, sparring playfully and trying to impress one-another with their skills. The more middle group, which contained Agar, Siegfried, Vincent, and four others, sat at the table eating, drinking and laughing, sharing tales of valor greatly exaggerated by their egos. Although still young, they enjoyed the taste and effect of ale, and loved to put on airs of elderly wisdom, emulating the great men of the village.

After several mugs of the cold brew, Agar was flush and rowdy, and signaled to Siegfried to gather the boys around the fire. Siegfried grinned merrily, well consumed by alcohol as well, and quickly shouted for all the friends to assemble, for the self-proclaimed bard Agar was to tell a tale.

They all quickly sat at the fire, bringing mugs of beer and hunks of bread with them to hear one of Agar's fanciful tales. Siegfried stood cross-armed in a nearby corner, watching his best friend as he composed himself for a tale.

When the group had quieted down, Agar spoke.

"So, my comrades, we now are assembled, finally, in a place we can call home! As we reflect on memories past, let me tell you a little tale about a rather peculiar man. His name, was _Schiza Verdamt._"

Immediately the boys roared with expectant laughter; Agar's tales of the aptly named "Shit Dammit" were always incredibly rude, incredibly coarse, and incredibly funny, especially whilst inebriated as they all were.

"One rainy day, Schiza Verdamt was walking along the beach, or rather stumbling. He had gotten very drunk the night before, and as he lurched about he suddenly felt the need to piss. So, hung-over as he was, he opened his trousers and took a slash as he walked, spraying himself and cursing loudly at anyone who tried to tell him of his predicament. He was absolutely mad that day, I'll tell you.

"He lurched along, occasionally screaming at the rain that began to beat harder and harder, or at the occasional crab that scuttled across the beach. One particular crab irritated Schiza Verdamt more than the others, so he stopped for a little discourse with the hapless morsel.

"'What the bloody fuck do you think you're doing, crab?' roared Schiza Verdamt. 'Scuttling about all high-and-mighty, like you own the beach! You don't look like any king crab to me. Get out of my sight, before I cook you for my supper!' Then he promptly vomited all over the poor crab and on his own tattered shoes.

"'Please, sir, I mean no offense,' said the crab miserably. 'I'm only scuttling on my way home under the briny sea, their to see my wife and family. I never meant to displease you, elegant sir' said the crab as it looked at Schiza Verdamt's pudgy, warty face, covered in vomit and soil."

The others boys rolled about in hysterics at Agar's silly, disgusting story. Whilst sober Agar would have had to try much harder to get a laugh, but he knew how to exploit an easy audience, and he himself was too drunk to care.

"So Schiza Verdamt said to the crab, 'You have a family? Take me to them, so that I may eat well tonight!' and he tormented and threatened the crab until the poor thing finally agreed to take the cruel, stupid man to his watery home.

"The crab and the human waded out into the surf, and after a time Schiza Verdamt said 'Fucking crab, the water is too cold,' but the crab replied 'It's necessary, elegant sir, for I live in a cold place.'

"Then the crab and human got into the deep ocean, and they swam for a long time. 'Fucking crab,' Schiza Verdamt said, 'It's too bloody far; I am tired.' 'It's necessary, oh elegant sir,' said the crab, 'For I live a long way away.'

"Then the crab and the human dove under the churning waves, and they swam down for a long time. 'Flubling Glab,' Schiza Verdamt blubbered, 'Ai alm dlorning.' 'It's sadly necessary, elegant sir,' said the crab. 'For I live underwater, and the world is much better off without you.' So the crab swam away into the inky darkness, and Schiza Verdamt drowned, cursing mightily all the way down to hell. The end."

"And may his bones never see day!" the boys cried, ending the story with their traditional call. They called for another round, and the boys laughed and sang merrily long into the night.

They all awoke late in the morning, bleary-eyed and sick. Siegfried was mostly unaffected, however, and cheerfully waved his ailing companions goodbye while he took his sword and sack home.

But when he came into town, something was amiss. The villagers were nowhere to be seen, a sense of dread covered the town. Fearing some terrible plague or impending attack, Siegfried rushed home.

His mother and father sat around the little table, their faces grim, his mother's eyes recently stained with tears.

"Mother, father...what is happening? What is going on?" Siegfried asked.

His father drew a long sigh, then spoke quietly. "The _Furher's_ men came to town today. We are at war. All able men in reserve are to report to the nearest barracks for combat enrollment." Frederick slammed his fist on the table angrily. "I have been drafted to fight in the war with Norway!"

Siegfried stood, disbelieving. "No...father, you can't leave! The village needs you! Mother needs you! I need you! Don't go, father, just don't go..."

"I've got no choice, Siegfried! If I refuse, I and the both of you will be killed for treason! Is that what you want, son? To kill our family?"

Siegfried recoiled as if he'd been struck. Frederick sighed again, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. "I am sorry son, you had no way of knowing. I am just so frustrated...I have already served my active duty, I feel exonerated, but I cannot escape my duty. I leave tomorrow, and you must take care of your mother. I don't know when I'll be back."

Margaret gazed at her beloved husband, tears welling up in her eyes again before she dashed to the bedroom, quietly sobbing. Siegfried stared at the floor, dejected, before looking up at his father.

"I promise, father," Siegfried said. "I'll wait here, and grow into a man you can be proud of. I promise...

_There. The last boring pre-chapter completed. Next is the reign of the Black Wind gang, and the pivotal moment in Siegfried's life that would change him forever._

_If anyone is reading this, and I hope people are judging from the hits, please review. Writers on this site get no money; the only incentive is a review from a fan or a good critic. Don't let me starve; feed my ego! Review!_


	4. Black Wind

**Azure**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Soul game series, they are the property of Namco**

_Now things get interesting. Siegfried's late teen years, and the first canon event in his life. Thanks to Shadow Ronin and my new reviewer, Mark Ol' Henry. Stand up, take a bow! _

_Otherwise, herebe chapter three!_

**Part One: Youth**

**III: Black Wind**

The ground trembled from pounding feet and thrashing hooves.

"On your right, Agar! Look out!"

Blood spilt left and right, the cries of wounded and dying.

"Go to hell, you little bastard!"

Another group of bandits slain, more blood to feed the dying grass.

"Now run! Run from death! Run from the wind, for it will find you!"

The Black Wind scores another victory.

In the two years since the men of Halden had left for war, the village youth had quickly had quickly turned from loving, mischievous children to hardened murderers. Without the guidance of their fathers, the boys of the village had become too rowdy and discontented for the old men and powerless mothers to control. They felt lost, abandoned and afraid, and turned to one another for comfort.

Siegfried had been no exception.

Of all the youth gangs that had sprouted in the wake of the war, his had been the strongest, the most ruthless, the most terrifying, and the most grudgingly useful for the village. The members called themselves the Black Wind, an obscure homage to the Black Plague that had purged the European continent some three hundred years before.

At sixteen, Siegfried was little changed from when his father left home. His long blonde hair was tied in a pony tail, his village clothes swapped for a heavy suit of plate mail which covered him from chest to foot. He wore no helmet, preferring sight over protection. His blue eyes gleamed with the sight of a hundred deaths, caused by his own hand. His journey from childhood to warrior had been swift, brutal and unmerciful, and it showed in his personality and voice. He laughed as easily as ever, but it was often cold and mirthless, rather than warm and naive.

But always, no matter the circumstance, he was seen with his zwiehander, Faust, the last gift from his father. Frederick had used the sword when he was young, and gave it to Siegfried minutes before he left for war.

It was an elegant blade, in appearance. Possessing an edged blade and ornate gilded hilt, it nearly as long as Siegfried was tall, about 5 feet from hilt to tip. It's balance was superior and its blade surprisingly sharp for a European sword of the time. Its combination of cutting power and sheer weight made it an extremely formidable weapon, and it was a combination of that and his own skill that allowed Siegfried to crush the other gangs and bring them all into the fold of the Black Wind.

It was now the end of fall, the air was cold and the grass brown and dry. The barn the young men had discovered whilst young was now a fortress, with crude stone walls and a wooden lookout post nearby. Other forts like it lay scattered about the village, burned and desecrated after being attacked by bandits and rival gangs. In this time of civil unrest, roving vagabonds scoured the countryside, searching for sleepy villages to plunder. It was for this reason the people of Halden made nearly no effort to stop the Black Wind; without these young and strong, albeit cruel young men, the village stood no chance against the murderers and thieves that populated the hills and forests of inner Germany.

It was just after defeating one such group that the members of the Black Wind marched proudly back to their hole.

"Did you see me, Commander? Surrounded on all sides, four swordsman ready to cut me to pieces, and I just lay 'em out! Two dead before they could even blink! Another missing his head as he moves to strike me down! I was just too quick for 'em, I was! And then..."

"Quiet, you stupid whelp!" A thinner, more muscular Vincent yelled as he cuffed the excited recruit. "Tell your tales of valor to your mates when we're home, but don't waste the Commander's time!"

The young man sniffed irritably, rubbing his stinging head and falling back to the rear, to talk with his friends away from Siegfried's sycophantic tag-along friend.

Siegfried nodded to Vincent, who beamed proudly at a job well done, as far as he was concerned. Vincent then peeled off to the right, there to tell off another group of younger ones discussing their exploits excitedly.

Siegfried sighed and his head drooped a little. Managing his 50+ group of warriors was exhausting, and he often was loathe to even sleep, running battle plans and methods of exploitation through his head all through the night. Today was another day when he and Agar would have to wrangle food and supplies from the grumbling village. He tightened his metal gauntlet into a fist, still slightly exhilarated from the battle. He thought of the men he had killed without remorse, instead wondering if he should have taken their heads or hands as proof of his gang's handiwork. It was with thoughts such as these that he led his group into their fort.

On the inside, it looked little different than two years ago, still strewn with hay and with a large hearth nearby. But now the walls were lined with weapons, and in the loft instead of young men playing cards were several village harlots and some of the men's lovers, who descended to embrace their men or proposition a lay for the night. Three young men, crippled from loss of limb, sat near a large vat, brewing homemade beer constantly so there was always some on hand. As the evening's events began to move into full swing, Siegfried motioned for Agar. It was time to visit the village.

The two old friends moved swiftly down the hill, accompanied by ten other young men selected to provide intimidation and protection. They walked on the old road in silence, watching the sun begin to sink below the mountains, the trees casting their first evening shadows as the wind blew gently from the west.

"Well, Sieg. Another day, another battle, eh?" Agar asked nonchalantly. Besides being taller, the joker looked no different than he did two years ago.

Siegfried did not reply. Agar shrugged and turned his head away. Siegfried was in another of his silent moods, like he always was before bullying more supplies from their village.

The twelve entered the village, the second day of the month, as always. The village elders stood at the gates, the women, children, and older men behind them. They looked at the younger men with terror and contempt; more than once the Black Wind had made "examples" of those who struck at them. But their hatred was fueled more from need than the loss of loved ones; the gang took much of the food the villagers produced, leaving them all hungry and discontented. As they neared winter, the villagers grew more and more reluctant to part with their hard-earned crops, the last of the season. Today, the second day of November, represented the beginning of another hard, hungry winter.

Siegfried stepped toward the old men, his armor clanking with each step.

"We have come for our payment," he said. "Just today, another band of thieves had come to plunder the village. We beat them off, and expect our supplies to be delivered within the week."

The eldest of the old ones also stepped forward, his eyes narrowed with hatred.

"O loathsome devils, why must you yet again plunder our stores and take our food? We gave you almost all we had last month; surely you can't have need for more already?"

Siegfried stared evenly at the old man.

"We have broken our backs for you ungrateful ingrates, have raised you from birth, and for what? Security? Pah!" The old man spat upon Siegfried's iron-plated boots. "You take more from us than any roving band ever would!"

Siegfried looked down at his filthied boot, then struck the old man with a vicious back-hand. The old man let out a pained cry and fell down at Siegfried's feet, looking up in terror of the young man.

Smirking, Siegfried kicked the old man, causing him to groan in pain. "Stupid old man," he said venomously. "I'd make you lick your spit from my boot, but I wouldn't want your disgusting tongue on my armor. I'm annoyed enough with your blood on it." He kicked the old man again, hearing a sharp crack as the man's ribs broke. Siegfried left him to lie, looking at the terrified villagers murderously.

"You have one week! We've worked hard for you, and deserve compensation." He bent down to look the old man in the eye, who was barely conscious for pain and lack of air.

"Take good care of your health," Siegfried whispered, and delivered one last kick before turning his back on the village.

"Curse you!" One of the older men shouted behind him. "You'll get what's coming for you soon, mark me! The _furher's_ men are retreating to the northern front, and when they pass through they'll crush you bastards! Just watch; your hour will come!"

One of Siegfried's men moved to punish the man, but the Commander held him back.

"Feh. If they're retreating, then they're cowards. Cowards who don't deserve to fight in Germany's name. We'll cut them down; maybe you'll finally learn to shut up and serve us, then."

Without another word, he continued back to the fort, the sun halfway through the trees as the shadows lengthened.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, Commander! Did you really have to kick him _again_?" One of Siegfried's men asked drunkenly. "I mean, he was, like, _old_! really old! Really, really, I mean that. Old, good God he's old. Old, old, old..." the young man rambled on, his head slowly falling to the table before collapsing in an old puddle of beer. Siegfried snorted in disgust as the man snored, deciding now would be the best time to tell his men of the news, before they all passed out. He moved in front of the hearth, letting out an ear-piercing whistle to get everyone's attention. 

"My fellow warriors! Today, you have all fought exceedingly well! We've suffered not a single death in four skirmishes thus far, and minor injuries are all we suffer. I'm very proud."

The young men whooped and cheered for themselves and for their Commander, slapping each other on the back and giving congratulatory toasts to one another.

"_However,_" Siegfried yelled over the resulting din. The teens quieted down somewhat.

"However," Siegfried continued, "There are more pressing matters at hand. The villagers report that a group of the _Furher's _men are moving north, retreating from the southern skirmishes to sortie north and reinforce the main lines. While we support our mother land, these cowards are deserting the people to the south, and they may assist the villagers here and try to drive us away from our home. We cannot allow that to happen! Death to the traitors who try to kick us out of our home!"

"DEATH TO THE TRAITORS!" the men roared back, toasting their leader and country. Someone started to sing an old war song, which was quickly joined with other happy, drunken voices.

Siegfried was satisfied for the moment, but knew he would have to tell them all again in the morning. He accepted a pint from one of the men, and excused himself out back to remove his armor. One of the resident whores offered him a good deal for the night, and Siegfried also accepted. There was no better aid to sleep than a quick lay, after all.

During the next week, Siegfried's men trained diligently, beating off the occasional group of marauders and receiving the village's exploited supplies. It was late into Sunday evening when the watchman called out.

"To Arms! An armed band comes from the southern road! To Arms!"

With trained haste the young men abandoned their ladies and drinks and equipped themselves for battle. Siegfried and Agar rushed up the watchtower, while Vincent hurried on the stragglers to ranks.

"Where are they? How close? How many?" Siegfried demanded of the young watchman, a youth barely twelve years old.

"About a mile off, Commander! I think they're the retreating men you told us about the other day."

Agar squinted into the failing light, for his eyes were the keenest of all the men. "I think he's right, Sieg, "he said. "About ninety or so, in full armor. They have a commander, of fairly low rank by the look of his armor, and two flag-bearers. It's the _Furher_'_s_ seal!" Agar turned to look at his old friend. "They'll be here soon, but not before dark comes. We can wait until they're below the hill, then use the night for an ambush."

Siegfried nodded, then motioned Vincent to come up the tower.

"Extinguish the lights in the fort, then move half the men with Agar to the woods opposite the hill. I'll command the men on the hill. When you hear an owl call three times, attack the enemy flank. We'll catch them in a pincer, then push them back the way they came." With his orders given out, Siegfried hurried down the tower, preparing to repeat his orders to his squad of men.

As dusk fell, Siegfried and his men crouched along the top of the hill, their blades hidden to avoid catching the faintest light. The moon was obscured by dark clouds, the perfect night for an ambush. They could barely make out the line of men as they began to move around the hill, but the other half of Siegfried's men were completely obscured by the trees of the dark forest.

The soldiers moved closer. Siegfried nudged one of the younger men, who gave the first cry.

The soldiers were almost to the base of the hill. The young man hooted again.

And as the soldiers began to pass the hill, the owl cry hooted once more.

With a sudden crack of branches, the first wave of Siegfried's men hit the soldier's right flank, the terrified cries of the surprised soldiers almost drowned out by the frenzied battle shouts of the young men.

"Now!" Siegfried roared, and his men charged down the hill, crashing into the back of the soldiers. The _Furher's _men were completely confused, attacked on both sides by warriors in a supposedly safe area. They lashed out blindly in the night, the commander unable to take control of his terrified men.

Siegfried rushed into the melee, drawing Faust from its sheath and cutting down two men with a single stroke. He swung and stabbed fiercely, shouting insults and curses as he killed man after man. As he fought blurred images sat on his peripheral vision; one of his young warriors gutted by an enemy soldier, Vincent roaring like a berserker with his ax, Agar silently slitting a flagbearer's throat before tossing a knife in the back of a soldier about to fire an arrow into the battle.

Before long the soldiers were clearly losing, fighting desperately as the flank cut off their escape. After Siegfried had slain his fifth soldier, he suddenly caught the motion of a sword coming down on his shoulder. Siegfried parried quickly, knocking the blade to the side and noting with interest that the weapon was also a zwiehander, this one of military build. Siegfried settled into his stance as he faced the enemy commander, ready to slay this skilled warrior.

With a loud battle cry Siegfried launched his attack, bringing his blade down on his enemy's head. But the soldier was ready for such an attack, and neatly sidestepped the attack while simultaneously striking at Siegfried's torso. Barely bringing his weapon around to block in time, Siegfried quickly feinted right and kicked his opponent in the gut, his foot ringing against the iron breastplate. But it was enough to shock his opponent, and Siegfried took the offensive again, striking low then high with two large, sweeping strikes. The first attack was quickly jumped over, but to Siegfried's surprise the enemy rolled under the high strike, landing at Siegfried's side and bringing the blade up to Siegfried's face. Siegfried attempted to dodge out of the weapon's range, but stumbled and fell, feeling the blade slice up his right cheek and past his eyebrow, nearly blinding him.

As blood dripped from his face Siegfried roared with rage and struck at his foe's legs again, this time tripping his opponent. Quickly rolling to his feet, Siegfried pinned the man beneath his foot, his boot pressing heavily on the man's chest.

"Go to hell, filthy traitor," Siegfried yelled, hefting his blade up and bringing it down on his foe's neck, decapitating him. The head rolled a few feet away, blood gushing from the severed neck as the man's heart continued to beat despite the lack of a brain to feed. Not wasting time, Siegfried stomped over to the head and grabbed it by the hair, lifting it up into the air.

"I've killed the commander!" he cried. "Victory is-"

The light of the moon peeked through the clouds, illuminating the head Siegfried held.

The head of the commander.

The head of a warrior he had known all his life.

The head of the man who had taught him everything he had known.

The head of his father dripped blood from its neck.

"**AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHHHHH!**" Siegfried screamed, his eyes bulging in horror at the sin he had committed. He had slain his own father, Frederick Schtauffen, brutally decapitating the man who had raised him from birth. He dropped the head, still screaming as he stared at the lifeless eyes of his father, wide with surprise and terror.

"COMMANDER! What has happened? Commander!" Vincent cried, but Siegfried barely heard him. His head was swimming, his sight blurry save for his father's head, which seemed to burn like it was consumed with fire. With another blood-curdling scream Siegfried ran from the battle, ran away into the dark woods, ran away from the clash of arms and the calls of his name. He ran into the night, the image of his father's head still before his eyes.

It was almost twenty minutes before Siegfried stopped running, when the sounds of the battle were so far away he could no longer hear them. Siegfried collapsed to the cold ground, panting heavily, tears pouring from his eyes. He looked at his right hand, which still held Faust. In disgust Siegfried threw it with all his might, where it embedded itself in a tree nearby. Siegfried crouched under a tree and clutched his knees to his chest, rocking slowly back and forth as he sobbed.

'Father...no. Not you. I never meant to kill you, father. Why? Why did you have to be with them? Why couldn't you stay with me?' "WHY?" Siegfried shouted into the darkness, striking the ground with his fists. "Why did you die, father? Why didn't you stop me, tell me who you were? WHY ARE YOU DEAD, FATHER?"

He sobbed again, memories of his father rushing through his mind. His first training session, getting fish in the market, falling gently to sleep as his father told him tales of ancient warriors...

His head still sat in his vision, pleading softly to Siegfried.

Suddenly, the grief became too much for Siegfried. He seized up, suddenly feeling tremendous pain in his head, then fell to his side, unconscious.

He awoke the next morning, bleary-eyed and dazed. He tried to figure out where he was, what he was doing in this grove of trees. He sneezed; the air was cold. He looked around and saw his sword, still stained with blood.

Then he remembered.

'My father...he was killed last night. He was beheaded...and I found his head. Some monster killed my father!' he though savagely, grasping his sword and pulling it from the trunk of the tree.

"I swear to find my father's killer...and make him pay! Pay for his crimes, and for leaving my mother alone. He will pay!" Siegfried roared, slashing at the tree and cutting a deep mark into it. In his madness, Siegfried thought back to his father's tales. The story of a sword, a Sword of Heroes, that granted god-like power to whomever possessed it. That legendary weapon, that could grant any wish. That was the path he would take; that was his answer to vengeance.

"I will find the blade! I will take the Sword of Heroes, and use it to utterly destroy my father's slayer and everyone he knows!"

'And then...with that blessed blade...perhaps I can even return him from the dead!' he added silently to himself.

Possessed by madness, blinded by rage, Siegfried hefted Faust on his shoulder and walked deeper into the woods. His quest, to find the Sword of Heroes, had begun.

**Part One End.**

_Well, that was quite long. Should give you plenty to chew on while I cook up the next chapter. But whilst you have read this story, I have read nothing. Give a starving writer something to read; send a review. It makes all the difference, and makes me kill one less kitten!...kidding._


	5. Wanderer

Azure

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Soul game series, they are the property of Namco**

_Alrighty. Part two now, chronicling the events during Soul Edge. What? You never played Soul Edge? Man, you've missed out. Get it for PSX! Also, I apologize for threatening kittens, and warmly thank my two new reviewers. Also, sorry this took so long, but school and writers block are a powerful combination. I should have my groove back soon._

**Part Two: Soul Edge**

**I: Wanderer**

Tromp, tromp, tromp, tromp

A mail-clad figure stomped slowly and deliberately through the dark forest.

Tromp, tromp, tromp, tromp

He'd been walking for days now, without food or rest. Tirelessly moving, tirelessly searching.

Tromp, tromp, tromp, tromp

Siegfried Schtauffen trudged blindly through the trees, his body drenched with sweat, his eyes hollow and dark from lack of sleep. His face was filthy, and he stank of the dead. He was desperate for a bowl of food and a long sleep, but felt he could not stop in this forest for either. He felt too many bad memories here to sleep.

How he longed to return home, to be with his friends and sleep with the warm fire by his side.

But he knew he could not return, not until his father's death was avenged.

Unable to turn back or stay, he could only move forward, until he could escape the trees and find a village to stay.

Until then...he would not sleep.

It was at late noon on the fourth day in the forest that Siegfried finally reached the end of the forest. From the position of the sun he determined he'd been walking west for many miles. The weather was growing ever colder; soon the first snow would fall. The grass was brown and dead, the tree's leaves now mostly disappeared. Winter was soon to come, and before it did Siegfried hoped to find a place to wait it out. Traveling in winter in Europe was seldom advised, and even rage must give way to reason occasionally.

With a deep breath of the chill air, Siegfried set off again.

He walked until early evening, surveying the rather barren fields for any kind of settlement. Finally, when the sun was red and sinking into the horizon, he decided to finally take a rest through the night.

He chose a small thicket near a stream, which would provide cover from wandering animals while he slept. Kneeling by the stream, he stripped his armor off and threw it into the thicket, leaving him in his tunic and pants. Splashing water onto his face, he briefly looked for any sign of easy food, but found none. Sighing discontentedly, he resigned himself to another day without a meal.

'At least I can rest a while,' he thought. Crawling next to his armor in the thicket, he watched the last rays of sunlight disappear as the world was covered in darkness. Reciting a quick prayer, he closed his eyes for an uneasy night's rest.

He awoke before dawn, tired and still very hungry. He pulled his armor back on and hoisted his sword as the sun began to rise once more. Without a glance behind him, he set off.

This day would prove far more fortuitous to him. The sun was just at the peak of its cycle when Siegfried saw what appeared to be a few thin lines of smoke. Hope rose in him as he began to run, practically flying to the top of a hill to get a better look. Sure enough, he looked down upon a large town, big enough to lose himself in. With his spirits higher, he made his way to refuge.

The gatesmen of the town were wary of Siegfried's armor and sword, but let him in after extensively questioning his motives. Unable to prove him anything more than a simple traveler, they really had no choice. Siegfried immediately hurried to the nearest inn, not paying any attention to the bustling town before him. Details he could leave for later; for now the only thing that mattered was filling his belly.

He left his weapon near the door, practically collapsing into the stool at the bar. The inn keeper looked at him suspiciously; armed men were not well liked in this town.

"A pound of whatever good meat you've got, a loaf of bread and two pints of beer, quickly!" Siegfried ordered, tossing several coins onto the counter without bothering to haggle price. More money meant less time waiting to be fed.

The inn keeper took the money carefully, eyeing the stranger as he filled the mugs.

"So, where're you from, then?" the innkeeper asked, attempting simultaneously to be friendly and figure out a little of this bedraggled man's background.

Siegfried stared at the innkeeper silently, his eyes telling the suspicious man that there would be no chit-chat, only a meal. Taking the non-verbal hint, the innkeeper scurried back to the kitchen to fetch the meal.

Taking one of the pints and draining it in one long draught, Siegfried slammed in down on the table and belched tremendously, taking no notice of the other offended patrons, who shifted their eyes back and forth between him and his massive sword. An elderly man and his wife left shortly afterward in disgust.

Soon the innkeeper returned with the platter of food, and Siegfried dug in without a moment's grace. In mere minutes he'd finished the lot, beer and all, and quickly paid for a room for the night. Never one to turn down business despite personal taste, the innkeeper nonetheless gave Siegfried the worst room in the building.

The warrior did not mind.

Leaving his sword locked in his room, Siegfried started into the town, to gather supplies and talk to the villagers before the sun set. Perhaps, he thought, he could find some hint of the Sword of Heroes.

With his bulging money sack from his time as the commander of the Black Wind Siegfried had no trouble getting what he needed, which included various maps of the surrounding countries. However, there was unfortunately little information of the Sword of Heroes to be found. Most people he talked to had no idea what he was talking about, and the rest merely had heard the name. Disheartened, but not despairing, he made his way back to the inn.

The sun had just set as he walked through one of the village's back allies. Siegfried was mildly irritated to see two men about his age blocking the way out of the ally. The inn was not twenty paces away.

"Excuse me," he began politely, "I need to get through."

The first man on the left sniggered. "Hey, Jacob. The swine with the armor wants through!"

The second on the right, apparently named Jacob, grinned maliciously. "Well, isn't that just a bitch." He said. "We're being awfully rude to the swine, aren't we? We'll just accept your purse, as an apology." At this point the man pulled a concealed dagger from his belt. "Give it up, before you get hurt."

Siegfried scoffed.

"You two aren't fit to lick the shit from my boots, but I'll play with you for a little while. Should give me my appetite back, if I don't get your filthy blood on me."

The two thieves gritted their teeth angrily.

"You're the one who's gonna bleed!" yelled the first thief, brandishing a club and striking at Siegfried's head.

Smirking, Siegfried neatly dodged the strike, walloping the man in the back of the head with his iron-clad fist. The man gasped, falling forward on his knees in pain. The second thief stabbed and slashed with his knife, aiming always for Siegfried's unprotected face. He was forced to back away, waiting for a chance. He got it when the thief stabbed forward too hard, slightly overbalancing himself. Grabbing the thief's arm, Siegfried pulled forward as he swung his fist into the man's nose, crushing it. Siegfried felt a surge of satisfaction as the man screamed in pain, almost choking on the blood that flowed down his face and into his throat. Unfortunately, such off-guard emotions can cost one dearly, and as Siegfried turned he saw the first thief leering at him. He saw the thief's arm raise the club, and suddenly knew no more.

_Yeah, I know, such a while off and coming back with barely over a thousand words, but that's writer's block for you. Besides, it was a good place to stop, I felt. So, I'm sure of a new chapter during Christmas break, maybe earlier. Laters._


	6. Exhortation

Azure

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Soul game series, they are the property of Namco**

_Ahh...I am revived! My writer's block has been obliterated by a streak of inspiration in the form of random short stories written in the dead of night. While they had nothing to do with Azure, they did get me going. My thanks to my reviewers, your praise helps keep me going. Please, give feedback; improve the story by improving me._

_Still setting some background, then the really canon parts will kick in._

**Part Two: Soul Edge**

**II: Exhortation**

The darkness slowly faded.

The pain quickly appeared.

Siegfried groaned and tried to open his eyes, but even the faint light of the moon was blinding and excruciating. He clinched them tight shut and slowly pushed himself onto his knees, feeling the blood pound through his throbbing head. He touched a finger gingerly to the massive lump on his head. It felt wet and a little warm, assuring Siegfried that he had a serious head wound and that he was, unfortunately, alive.

Another wave of pain shot through him, almost bringing him prone again, but he overcame it through sheer will. He forced himself to stand, using the nearby wall for assistance. He swayed as the blood rushed from his head, opening his eyes to a narrow squint to avoid letting too much light through. Besides his skull his body felt un-injured. He also felt somewhat chilled.

Siegfried suddenly realized he was almost naked.

His eyes shot wide open in anger and bewilderment to examine his body. He had been stripped down to his underwear, and his purse and newly-bought supplies were gone too. Siegfried shrieked with rage and stomped his foot, but quickly curbed his fury as another massive wave of pain reminded him that he was quite badly injured.

Leaning against the wall, Siegfried gritted his teeth and stumbled down the ally to the inn that was so close by.

Fortunately, the innkeeper had not yet locked the doors, since the last of the bar-goers were just starting to stumble out into the night. However, the innkeeper was so shocked at the state of Siegfried that he almost slammed the door shut again. Siegfried swept past, pausing only briefly to give instructions that the innkeeper was to bring upstairs a bowl of warm water, a needle and thread, a wrap of bandages, a cloth and a bottle of vodka.

A few minutes after Siegfried had returned to his room, the innkeeper came up with the items requested. Siegfried took the items gratefully, and swore to pay the innkeeper the next day. With a disdainful sniff, the innkeeper said that would be fine and departed downstairs to shoo the drunkards off.

Siegfried then turned to the problem at hand: his head wound. He took the bowl of water and placed it on the windowsill, using the light from the moon to create a makeshift mirror. Examination of the side of his head showed a massive lump with dried blood matting his hair. Siegfried then set about the task of cleaning the wound, using the cloth and water. After gingerly mopping up the dried blood, his mirror revealed a fairly large gash on top of the wound. It was very slowly oozing blood.

Now came the hard part.

Siegfried uncorked the vodka and took two, long pulls. He waited a few minutes, then threaded the needle.

As the commander of the Black Wind, Siegfried had been forced to learn various battlefield medicinal treatments, specifically the stitching and bandaging of wounds. While he had never performed the procedure on himself, he had done so on almost a dozen of his warriors. The process was painful, he knew, but he also knew it would be worse on a swollen head.

Hence the vodka.

Gritting his teeth, Siegfried lifted the needle to his head...

Birds chirped in the morning light as Siegfried sorted through his travel bag, finding his spare set of clothing. Pulling them on, he devoured the meager breakfast of bread and water provided him courtesy of the innkeeper. He touched a finger to his head, satisfied to note that the stitchings were holding well. He shouldered his blade and went downstairs out the door.

It was time to recover his things.

He returned to the ally were he'd been accosted and took a closer look at the ground. His search was rewarded by a trail of dried blood leading away from the inn.

Siegfried followed the blood and kicked up dirt, occasionally losing the trail but picking it up again quickly. He was glad to be out so early, lest passersby would kick the dirt and blood away.

As he tracked the blood the drops began to get fewer and fewer, showing that the thief with the broken nose had begun to stop bleeding. Fortunately, the trail stopped abruptly in front of a large, decrepit wooden door leading to a small shack in the backstreets of town.

Siegfried hefted his zwiehander and kicked the door open, charging straight through the threshold. A man who Siegfried recognized as the broken-nosed thief started from his sleep on the ground of the shack and gave a cry of alarm. Siegfried lunged at the man and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, lifting the man up to his face.

"You've got five seconds to tell me where my things are, thief, before my blade chops you in half. Speak!"

The thief whimpered in fear. A sudden sharp smell and a sizzling sound told Siegfried to his satisfaction that the man had pissed himself.

"I-I d-don't have your s-st-stuff, s-sir! M-m-my b-boss took it b-back to his place! I don't h-have it!" the thief stuttered in fear.

Siegfried shook the man roughly, yelling "Where's your boss!? And the guy who was with you? Where are they!?"

"A-at the hideout, on the e-edge of t-t-town. It's to the s-south, at the big b-brick b-building that the townies think is deserted." Suddenly, unexpectedly, the thief smirked.

"You'll never get in, let alone get your shit back. The boss is a tough one, he'll rip you a new ass hole if you cross him!"

Now it was Siegfried's turn to smirk.

"I'd let him know you have confidence in him, but you can sing his praises to him in hell!"

With that Siegfried struck the man in his already broken nose, twice. The thief screamed in pain, but his scream quickly turned into a gasp of surprise and agony as Siegfried impaled him on his massive blade. Using his monstrous strength Siegfried whipped the dying man off Faust and into the wall, where the thief crumpled in a bloody heap. With a snicker Siegfried left the hut and slammed the door shut. Revenge was a sweet thing, indeed.

Wasting no time Siegfried stormed southward. He kept to the off-streets to avoid attention, but otherwise was very much oblivious of anything save his goal. In a fifteen minutes he had reached the south village border, which appeared to be mostly a cluster of allyways and old buildings. A few minutes search revealed his target: a large brick building with a "for sale" sign rudely tacked to one side and falling apart. Siegfried briefly considered the benefits of waiting for nightfall, but decided he was far too angry to wait. He stomped up to the door, which looked to be made of heavy oak. It was also reinforced with an iron deadbolt, something that a deserted building would probably not need. Siegfried leaned Faust against the wall and began to kick the door down. In four blows it was down with a thundery crash, and Siegfried quickly ducked to his sword's side to prepare for whatever lay before him.

To his surprise, no one came out.

Holding his blade cautiously before him, Siegfried entered the building. The bottom floor was non-descript, possessing nothing more than a spent lantern atop a small wooden table with three stools. It was also rather dusty and gloomy, the sunlight looked strained through the blinds on the windows.

Feeling increasingly more confident, Siegfried moved forward through the single room to find a staircase on the back right corner. Now sure of not encountering any residents, he moved up the stairs and on to the second floor.

Here was a bit more interesting. The remains of a fire lay to the right, connecting to a dusty chimney. Another, larger table was near it, with five decent chairs. Finally, what appeared to be an old rat corpse lay rotting in the far corner near several large sacks.

Siegfried was very interested in those sacks.

Opening them, he found everything that had been stolen from him, down to the last coin. He also discovered various other trinkets, wallets and belongings, but as they were not his Siegfried had no interest in them. However, the stolen food in the last sack was very much appreciated, and he dined well on wine, bread, cheese and fruit.

Now he had only to wait.

Choosing a dark corner next to the stairs, Siegfried sat down to wait.

Unfortunately, an injured person who had eaten a large meal gets very tired, and so Siegfried fell asleep and did not wake until a cry of alarm and anger awoke him. Glancing quickly about the now pitch-black room, Siegfried knew it was nighttime, but how late it was he did not know.

"Move your asses, dammit! Get upstairs, see what we lost! If anything beyond a fucking apple is gone you're all dead, you hear me!? Dead!"

A young, very scared thief quickly bolted upstairs with a torch, immediately seeing the now dilapidated and mostly empty sacks of loot.

"No good, boss!" he cried "It's all-"

The man's voice suddenly cut out and the next thing the thieves heard was a dull thud.

The boss gritted his teeth. He was a tall, powerfully built man who was bald and sported a huge, open scar along the top of his head. He lifted his rough battle axe and spurred three men forward with the haft.

"Don't just stand there, cowards, go see what happened!"

The thieves moved cautiously up the stairs, drawing their weapons as they moved. The lead thief held his torch with one hand and glanced about the silent room. Then he looked down…

The head of the first unlucky thief lay upon the step, glistening with blood.

"Murderer!! Boss, there's a-"

Siegfried lunged from his hiding spot and stabbed down the stairs, impaling not one but two men upon Faust's blade. The final thief screamed and raced downstairs, but was unexpectedly knocked down the flight by the bodies of his late cohorts. He tumbled down and landing with a sickening crack upon his head at the bottom, breaking his neck.

The boss and his remaining nine thieves stood stock-still in awe at this barbaric display.

"Kill the bastard!" The boss roared, and the group moved for the stairs. They heard a loud battle cry as Siegfried stormed downstairs and quickly sliced a man in half from the waist. His army shined in the torchlight and glistened with blood, and to the men he appeared as some terrible war-demon. Roaring again, Siegfried swung Faust in a wide arc, decapitating another foe. Two thieves screamed and dropped their weapons, turning to flee into the night, but the boss hefted his axe and swung low, cutting off two pairs of legs with a single massive stroke.

"You cowards! If you use your legs to flee I'll make sure you're deprived of them!" The unfortunate men simply lay dead of shock and blood loss.

Five men remained, shaking like leaves in the wind. Siegfried stared hard at the boss, completely ignoring the lesser men.

The boss smirked.

"You're quite a powerful warrior to slay so many of my companions! I must say I am quite impressed. How about joining the gang, and becoming my lieutenant?"

Siegfried spat.

"A leader who kills his men is not fit to lead, and a commander is not fit to serve a dirty thief!"

The boss' smile faded.

"Your words seal your death. I challenge you to combat!"

Siegfried merely shifted his stance to a proper guard, holding his blade out to his foe with both hands down and shifting his rear leg back into a lunging stance.

The fighters stood still for only a split second.

The boss roared and struck with a short chop to his foe's neck. Siegfried easily parried the blow and stabbed forward, but unfortunately the thief boss was a skilled warrior, as well. He dodged left and quickly sung the haft of his axe upward, catching Siegfried by surprise and striking him between the legs. Siegfried gasped and fell to both knees, almost speechless with pain.

The boss laughed and spat on Siegfried.

"I guess I overestimated you, whelp. Looks like you're not good enough to fight my mother, let alone me." He lifted his axe up, preparing for a killing blow.

Without warning, Siegfried suddenly stopped squirming and rolled right, letting the axe bite into the wooden floor. "What!?" the boss cried, pulling his axe up and bringing to bear against his foe, but a little late. Siegfried attacked with a strong one-handed sweep to his foe's chest, forcing the axe and its bearer to stumble left. Without pause Siegfried kicked the boss in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to drop the axe altogether. Siegfried ended his winning combo with a gauntleted straight punch at his foe's bent head, knocking him flat on the ground. Siegfried brought his sword point to bear at the boss' head, planting a foot on his chest.

"Now, I'll let you live if you can give me some information." He said coldly.

The boss coughed as he struggled to get his breath back. "…how?" he managed to gasp.

It was Siegfried's turn to smirk. "What kind of fully armored man would not protect his balls like the rest of his body, fool?" and knocked for emphasis.

The boss winced and glanced about, but in the chaos of the fight his remaining men had run off. "…all right…" he said fearfully. "What do you want?"

Siegfried sighed happily. "What do you know about the Sword of Heroes?"

"Sword of Heroes? What are you talking about?" the boss stammered.

"Talk, damn you!" Siegfried cried, poking the man's throat. "Although a shitty warrior you are one just the same! You know of the blade of which I speak! Now talk before I remove your head!"

"Shit! Wait, wait, I-I heard a rumor that Baron Stefan possess a wonderful weapon, a sword so strong it can cut steel!"

"Is that so? That's more like it! Where is this Stefan? Speak!"

"Agh! A-at Ostrheinsburg Castle to the north-west! It's near the northern coast, I swear on my mother's grave! Just please, spare me my life!"

Siegfried stood for a moment, considering the request. A wicked smile spread over his face.

"You know what, I'll do you one better. I'll rid you of all worldly problems!"

With that Siegfried stabbed down through the neck and wood, his foe's head still barely attached to his body by a few threads of flesh. Blood sprayed out of the wood, soaking the floor. Without even a second glance, Siegfried retrieved his supplies and left the building, regretting that he couldn't burn brick.

Before he left the village in the middle of the night, Siegfried made sure to drop by the inn and drop a large sum of money under the door.

'Afterall', he thought, 'I'm no thief.'

_There we are, a nice thick chapter for you. Next up is Ostrheinsburg, where Soul Edge really begins. Thanks for reading!_


	7. Ostrheinsburg

Azure

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Soul game series, they are the property of Namco**

_Ok! Now we get to the lesser-known canon sections of Siegfried's life. This arc will last about two chapters, detailing Siegfried's service to Sir Stefan of Ostrheinsburg Castle. Thanks for your reviews and praise, they are the food of writers. Without it, I'll starve! Literally! Waste away to nothing and die before my computer, cold and alone…and I deeply apologize for my absence. _

**Part Two: Soul Edge**

**III: ****Ostrheinsburg **

Gregory the Watchman stared idly through the mist.

The early morning was gray and cold, a light yet chill wind tousled his black hair into his face, forcing him to push it back. He blinked hard a few times through the sleepy boredom. 'Just hold on until the sun's up' Gregory though patiently to himself. 'Just another hour or so, and I'm back downstairs for warm oatmeal and a nice sleep.' The pleasant thoughts stirred his vigilance a little, and he took a swig of whiskey, feeling the warmth flood him. 'Just a little while longer…'

Suddenly, Gregory caught movement from the corner of his eye. Whirling to the other side of the tower, he looked down to see a bedraggled looking warrior trudging towards the castle. His blonde hair was long, unkempt, and full of dead leaves, and he carried a massive Zweihander upon his back.

"Halt, stranger! Who goes there?" Gregory called from his perch.

The warrior glanced up, unhurriedly.

"It is Siegfried Schtauffen! I hail from the southlands, having recently fought the barbarians on our front! Is this Ostrheinsburg?"

Gregory called back. "Indeed, 'tis. Welcome, friend of Germany, I shall lower the gates."

The portcullis of the castle creaked open, the heavy wooden gates heaving open. Siegfried Schtauffen had finally arrived.

Ostrheinsburg Castle was a large fortress, built of solid stone from the western quarries. It was a proper castle-town, with a population of over 600 peasants within the gates and some 800 more outside the walls on various farmlands. It stood as a powerful deterrent to northern invaders, bandits, and barbarians, for the castle had never been captured or laid low by siege in its 200 years of active service. Within its hewn stone walls law 400 men strong, and four catapults. It had enough food stored at all times to last six months, and its own independent water supply.

It was a marvelous example of proper castle building and upkeep. But Siegfried was not interested in such facts.

With single-minded purpose he made his way through the castle town, toward the keep. Ascending the stone steps to the keep, he was again halted, only this time by a halberdier in full plate armor.

"State your name and business, warrior." The halberdier commanded.

"Siegfried Schtauffen, from the southlands. I wish to inquire with the Lord of this castle if I may be of service to him."

The halberdier dropped his aggressive stance and smiled. "Our reputation has spread as far as the Southlands, eh? No one can take Ostrheinsburg, not so long as Sir Stefen holds the castle. Enter, friend."

The halberdier opened the doors, allowing Siegfried to enter the dim keep. The stone halls were lit by flickering torchlight, the sounds of clanking armor and chatter could be heard throughout the echoing passages. Ascending one set of stairs after another, Siegfried finally came to the doors of the main hall, behind which the sounds of merrymaking and breakfast could be heard loudly.

He shoved open the doors with a bang. Instantly, the hall was silenced by the arrival of this fearsome looking man wielding his massive blade. Siegfried walked down the line of wooden tables, passing looks of shock, awe, and anger. At the head of the high table sat a man of regal bearing, his gray beard clean and trimmed and his eyes glinting with that of a true warrior. Siegfried halted before the long table.

"Sir Stefen, I presume?" Siegfried asked rhetorically.

The man stood up. "Indeed, I am Sir Stefen of Glamdris. Who are you, and why do you disrupt our morning meal?"

"I am Siegfried Schtauffen. I am here to join your troops."

Sir Stefen smirked. "Is that so? Then the sword you carry is not just an act of compensation…" The soldiers in the hall howled with laughter at their lord's wit, pouring themselves a toast of ale. Siegfried said nothing, he only stared.

Gradually, the laughter died down in the face of the young man's aggressive gaze. Sir Stefen cleared his throat. "In any case, if you are to join our ranks, you must prove yourself worthy of the honor. We are the elite, the sole guardians of the northern front. To be one of us, you must defeat one of us."

He addressed the soldiers before him. "Who will take this man's challenge and defend our honor?"

The soldiers looked at one-another nervously, taking furtive glances at Siegfried's blade and demeanor. However, one man in the far-right corner stood.

"I will face him, for honor and glory, Sir!"

Sir Stefen grinned broadly. "Ah, Samuel! Truly, a worthy foe, to truly prove this man's skill. Clear the tables!"

Without a moment's hesitation, the fighting men stood and shoved the tables into the far walls, opening a space twenty feet to a side. Siegfried stood where he was, immobile, while his foe prepared himself. Hearing a thundering clang, however, Siegfreid turned behind him.

Samuel was an large man, standing almost six feet and looking to weigh perhaps 200 pounds. His broad shoulders were clad with iron bracers, and he wore heavy chainmail armor and iron-clad boots as well. Despite the weight, he moved perfectly freely, suggesting extreme strength. Further emphasizing this man's use a brute force, however, was the large claymore he held in both hands.

"There are few heavy-blade users in this castle: I wish you the best of luck, to please our lord and join our ranks." Samuel said, pushing his medium-length brown hair back over his head, producing an odd wave-like effect.

Siegfried smirked; he couldn't help but feel a kinship with this man. "Fortune with you, as well." He said, feeling the anticipation of a true test of his skills.

Sir Stefen stood behind them. He glanced first to Siegfried, then Samuel and, noting their ready stances, cried aloud "Begin!"

The fighters circled one another, blades ready to defend at a moments notice. In this battle there would be no cocky sword-play, nor dramatic flair; each respected the other as a swordsman perfectly able to rout the other with but a moment's weakness.

Suddenly, Siegfried noticed a hole in foe's low guard. With a shout, he swung at Samuel's head, causing his foe to duck the blow. But the attack was merely a feint, and Siegfried quickly shifted his weight to bear and stabbed with his Zweihander at his foe's legs.

Samuel, noticing his error, reacted with lightning speed and leapt smartly to the left, launching a sweeping strike at Siegfried's chest. But Siegfried blocked the attack, the blades clashing against one another like the crash of the ocean. They struggled briefly in this sword lock, Samuel trying to shove Siegfried over his sword. Siegfried, however, was better placed, and took a step forward while pushing back, knocking his foe's weapon away from him. Samuel staggered to his right with the sudden loss of balance, and with a triumphant cry Siegfried stabbed forward at his foe's now unguarded body.

He underestimated Samuel's strength.

For suddenly Siegfried felt a terrible blow against his left side, knocking him over and causing him to roll thundering into the wall. He quickly stood, shaking his head in shock and confusion at his foe. Taking stock, Siegfried noticed with shock that his foe had struck him one-handed!

Samuel laughed good-naturedly. "It's all well and good to wield a two-handed sword, Siegfried. But when you're caught without an arm, you better know how to fight anyway." Laughing again, Samuel quickly performed a series of figure eights with his massive blade, again with only his right hand. "When a person like you or me can wield heavy blades with the dexterity of a longswordman, there can be no stopping us on the battlefield."

Siegfried shook his head in bemusement and shock. He had lost.

Sir Stefen walked to the defeated warrior. "Have no fear, young Siegfried. Your prowess is clearly forged from battlefield wisdom, not the stuffy doldrums of taught swordsmanship. I would be proud to have you in our army!"

The throngs cheered loudly, rushing forward to greet their new comrade. A mug of ale found its way to Siegfried, who drank greedily. Over the lip of the mug he caught Samuel's eye, who nodded approvingly.

Once the cheering was over and the tables replaced to finish the meal, however, Siegfried found himself staring at the lord of the castle, and the gold-sheathed longsword at his side…

_Hehe. That's it for this chapter, since I think the next section really needs its own chapter. I must admit, Samuel is an OC very near and dear to my heart, a creation of mine in SCIII's Chronicles of the Sword. To read more about him, check the forum section for created characters in SCIII. I'd like to keep him in the story, so you'll be seeing a bnit more of him later on. Until then, keep healthy, and tell me what you think!_


	8. Betrayal

**_Azure_**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Soul game series, they are the property of Namco**

_Ah, happiness. I've managed to get out of that corner in the story, I believe. I'm glad you enjoy my portrayal of Siegfried, Alastor90. Myself, I could never see Siegfried as a "holy knight", considering the things he had done. He always struck me as deeply disturbed, and I'm very glad that I've been able to convey my feeling successfully. To my other reviewers, thanks for the warm praise. _

_I hope to get maybe another chapter after this one before the Spring Break next week; I expect the Soul Edge story arc to last another 5-7 chapters. Until then, bear with me. _

**Part Two: Soul Edge**

**IV: Betrayal**

"Battalions…form ranks!" The sergeant-at-arms cried.

The grizzled combat veteran ventured up, down, and through the ranks of soldiers, divided neatly into their eight battalions. Each ffity soldier group possessed fifteen archers, ten longswordsmen, ten halberdiers, ten horseback knights, and five heavy blades.

Within the 5th company stood Siegfried and Samuel, stiff to attention as the sergeant passed by their battalion.

After nearly ten minutes of standing stiffer than statues, the sergeant returned to the front of the army.

"Today's schedule will include formation practice, battalion strategy, and scrimmage. Before that, however, we will have specialist training for two hours. Begin!"

Although the soldiers would not dare to make an irregular sound in front of the sergeant, a well-known sadist, they all cheered within their hearts. Specialist training was the only training that could be considered "fun", since it was essentially two hours of showing off your skills before your comrades and rivals. Moving smartly, each specialist group (archers, longswords, halberdiers, horseback knights, and heavy blades) made their respective ways towards the designated training areas.

Each training area possessed all the equipment each specialist needed. Archers, for example, had haystack targets and rabbits (for moving targets), while the horseback knights had several quintains (a man-sized doll with a target and a sandbag on a swivel that would knock knights off their horses if they moved too slowly). The heavy blade training ground, on the other hand, was littered with horizontal iron bars, weights of varying type, and odd-looking thick poles stuffed with hay and coated in tar.

These odd devices were used to train power and control: the key physical points a heavy blade needed. The horizontal bars were a simple device: the user simply swung his blade over the bar, trying to keep it above the bar. If the user's arms got tired, then his blade would drop and clang into the bar, after which the offender would run ten laps around the entire training ground before returning to try again. This was done to teach the heavy blades to keep their swords up, always ready to block, and also to simply build muscle.

The weights were just that: weights to strengthen the body's arms, hips, and legs just to wield the heavy blades properly.

The final and oddest device was considered one of the most difficult. The tar and hay on the wooden pole made it exceptionally springy: a man could run into one and expect to be launched backward a fair distance. The object of this training exercise was to take a full swing horizontally, and check the swing to a guard before the blade struck the pole. Failure to do so would ricochet the blade wildly, throwing the user off their feet or worse, striking themselves with their own blade. To avoid serious injury, wooden dummy swords were used for this exercise, but many a rib or nose had been shattered before this fiendish device. But for its difficulty, it was by far one of the most meaningful lessons a heavy blade could ever learn: control your blade, or expect quick and merciless death.

Last, but not least, all the specialist groups sparred. This was what made specialist training fun.

After a half-hour of practice on the horizontal bars and springy pole, Siegfried and Samuel made their way to a clear spot on the grounds.

"Well, Sieg, are you prepared to lose again?" Samuel asked cockily.

Siegfried grinned and spat on the ground. "The score's thirty six to thirty seven, Sam. Today it will be even."

Samuel readied his guard, Siegfried likewise.

After a moment, they charged.

The other heavy blades stopped their training and watched the match, always eager to pick up a new trick from these two talented fighters. Of all the heavy blades, Siegfried and Samuel were by far the best, and because of their skill their battalion was first place for battalion scrimmage. Groups of three, even four soldiers would be knocked off their feet by these warrior's incredible blows, yet their control was so good their foes were left only with massive bruises and lumps the size of oranges.

Their commanders could only shudder with delight at the thought of these two on the field of battle.

The mock battle went on for almost five minutes, the combatants parrying, sweeping, and chopping at each other without holding back a bit. Eventually, however, Samuel stumbled, and with a triumphant shout Siegfried stabbed forward and caught Samuel in the gut, launching him back several feet to lay prone on the ground.

Coughing, Samuel stood up quickly, his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He glared at Siegfried accusingly.

"That…was…a dirty trick…hitting me…when I'm off balance…"

Siegfried merely shouldered his wooden blade nonchalantly. "Perhaps you should spend more time on the springy pole, Sam. As I predicted, the score's even at thirty seven all."

A raucous burst of applause emanated from the observing heavy blades. Twirling his blade in the air, Siegfried jammed it into the earth and took a mock-bow at the ground.

He was extremely surprised to feel a gauntleted hand strike him into the dirt. Rolling quickly onto his back, he caught a glimpse of the sergeant before being pinned underneath his heavily armored foot.

The sergeant glared at the now dead silent heavy blades.

"This is not a show, goddammit! This is a fucking ARMY, and by you're gonna ACT LIKE IT!" the sergeant screamed at the specialists, his face absolutely livid as his face contorted with rage.

"You will NOT ignore your duties to watch two cocky FUCKS stroke their egos! You will NOT stand around clapping like your hands like distressed old hens! And you will NOT!" he continued, directing his full rage upon Siegfried, "Act like the goddammed Furer when you've won a bloody sparring match!"

With that, the sergeant spit in Siegfried's face and stalked off toward the halberdiers. Siegfried sprang to his feet, teeth gritted with rage and humiliation as he tried to bum-rush the retreating sergeant, but three other heavy blades sprinted forward and grabbed him by the arms and torso.

"Just let me at him! One good blow, I swear, I'll teach him to spit upon Siegfried Schtauffen!"

"Sieg, Sieg, control yourself!" pleaded one of the heavy blades restraining him. "He'll KILL you if you try to fight him, the man's possessed!"

Siegfried struggled viciously for a short while before exhausting himself, his white-hot rage cooling to a simmering, intense frustration.

Once he stopped struggling he was released, and Siegfried immediately charged the vertical pole and struck it with his fist, pounding at it repeatedly to vent his anger completely. The others stood back and watched nervously while this ritual was carried out, until at last Siegfried was satisfied.

He turned to look at his comrades.

"All right. Back to work." He said quietly. The specialist practice continued in silence for the rest of the day.

Later that evening, after supper, Siegfried lay awake in his cot, unable to sleep. His thoughts were plagued by images of the past, an occurrence that often happened when he felt slighted or insulted.

"Four months…" he murmured to himself.

For indeed, Siegfried had spent the entire winter at Ostrheinsburg. His efforts to discover the Sword of Hero's whereabouts had brought him only some success, for the rumors that Sir Stefen's sword, Grimblade, was the Sword of Hero's itself were more prevalent here.

According to local legend Sir Stefen had never once been defeated in combat since acquiring the sword some twenty years ago. It was said that he never drew the sword save in true battle, and that when he did so the blade glowed like the light of the sun. Sir Stefen apparently never confirmed or denied his sword's identity, although the care and reverence that he lavished upon it, not to mention its never-ceasing presence on his person, seemed to prove that it was no ordinary sword.

The questions that troubled Siegfried's mind were two-fold: the first was whether it was truly the weapon he had been seeking.

The second was how he could take it.

Eventually, sleep came to Siegfried, and another week passed uneventfully in the castle. But on a drizzly, chilly day in mid-March, a messenger arrived before Sir Stefen, covered in mud and completely exhausted.

"I bear terrible, news, my lord!" The messengers said upon catching his breath. "The barbarians of the north are making their way towards the English Channel, and to do so are attacking every village and fort in their path! Ostrheinsburg is right in their way!"

Sir Stefen nodded gravely. "When do you expect the enemy to arrive?"

"Our scouts report them moving almost twenty miles per day. They'll be here in no more than two days time!"

Sir Stefen dismissed the messenger and quietly pondered his strategy. After almost ten minutes, he nodded to himself and summoned his commanders.

"Prepare your battalions for sortie within two days. Battalions one, two, four, and seven will man the walls of the castle, while battalion three will cover our escape route, if necessary. Battalions five, six, and eight will be led by non other than myself, to confront the barbarians. Are my orders clear?"

With a quick "aye", the commanders hurried to their duties.

The following days were filled with tension at the prospect of attack. The peasants were restless and afraid, constantly questioning the soldiers about the enemy numbers, the castle's sturdiness, and their own safety. Many of the soldiers were green, having never seen real combat, and turned to the veterans for reassurance and advice.

Siegfried, although a combat veteran himself, was not troubled by questions due to his vague description of his prior "service". He spent his time mostly alone, or practicing with Samuel. Yet no matter what happened, a single thought came to him over and over again.

This battle, and this battle alone, would be his only chance to take Grimblade and leave this accursed castle.

Samuel, mistaking Siegfried's brooding for anxiety, left him alone. He had no wish to pry into his friend's thoughts.

Time seemed to pass with alarming speed, and the day of battle had arrived. Further scouting had estimated the enemy to arrive in the early dawn. As such, the army was stirred before the sun rose, and positions were taken with all haste.

Battalion five assembled just outside the gates on the right flank, with battalion eight in the middle and six on the left. Sir Stefen sat on horseback between battalions five and eight, and his first lieutenant was between eight and six. The early morning darkness was cold and foggy, but the dawn light was just starting to lighten the eastern sky.

The soldiers stood uneasily at attention, waiting. Samuel leaned close to Siegfried and whispered, almost silently, "Stay on the left flank; I'll take the right. The others will charge the center."

Siegfried only nodded.

"Don't die."

Siegfried glanced at Samuel. "I don't plan on it."

Just then, the lookouts cried out through the silent morning "The barbarians are approaching!"

Sir Stefen raised an arm and shouted "Battalions, advance on my signal! Archers, fire on sight! Longswordsmen, steady charge on each flank! Halberdiers, phalanx in front of the archers! Cavalry, full go after the third wave of arrows! Heavy Blades, advance at wedge after the knights! MARCH!"

With that command the battalion core advanced at a quick walk, closing the distance. The idea was not to get out of the range of support fire from the archers in the castle, but far enough to prevent repercussions on said archers. It was a reckless, daring move, but would almost certainly disrupt and demoralize the already tired and disorganized barbarian hoard.

About a hundred yards away, the barbarians could be seen.

"Archers, FIRE!" Stefen roared. A wave of arrows flourished into the air, peppering the barbarians and slaying several dozen of the tightly packed foes.

"Notch…fire!" Stefen called out again. Another wave, but the hoard was dispersing, scattering out to make less packed targets.

"Notch, fire! Cavalry, charge! Longswords, advance!" Stefen cried out.

The forces of Ostrheinsburg charged. The barbarians charged.

Within seconds, the battle was joined.

Siegfried found himself immediately confronted by a crazed berserker who'd broken the charge. Roaring with bloodlust, the berserker brandished his battle axe and leaped into the air, swinging the weapon into the ground with enough force to make the earth shake. Siegfried, far more calm, struck with a large sweep of his blade, Faust imbedding itself deep within the man's side. The berserker howled with pain, flailing his axe all over the place in a frightening display of pure animalistic fury. Surprised at berserker's toughness, Siegfried was forced to reassess the fight as the battle raged around him. A trio of arrows flew over the heads of nearby combatants and nearly struck Siegfried and berserker both, but the constant ducking, weaving, and dodging by the foes protected them.

Bleeding heavily, the barbarian's attacks gradually slowed, until at last Siegfried found his opening. He rushed forward, his blade before him, and swung up with a terrible blow at his foe's exposed chest. Faust carved a massive gash straight up to the berserker's face, and he fell dead upon the ground.

Plunging once more into the fray, Siegfried could only catch snatches of images as the battle raged on. Halberdiers impaled wriggling bodies on their spears, axes hew through defenseless archers, and lances splintered before terrible war hammers wielded by iron-clad warriors. For the briefest of moments, Siegfried saw a man bleeding heavily from the stump of his arm as he sobbed over the body of an eviscerated comrade. But he dwelled not on the horrors of battle, for he had his own quarry to pursue.

Having sliced the leg off an enemy swordsman about to perform the coup-de-grace on a downed soldier, Siegfried finally spied his prey: Sir Stefen himself.

The noble knight was spattered in blood, the sword Grimblade drawn and hacking viciously into the barbarian menace. To Siegfried's delight he saw that the sword indeed glimmered with an ethereal light, and he also saw to his amazement that Sir Stefen was completely unharmed, despite being surrounded on all sides.

Knocking friend and foe alike out of his way, Siegfried advanced until he was almost close enough to grab Sir Stefen from behind.

Which is exactly what he did.

Grabbing Sir Stefen by the armor plates of his back Siegfried wrenched the knight off his horse, watching the now panicked beast wheel and whinny without his rider to guide him. Sir Stefen had no time to speak before the point of Faust stabbed him through the heart, silencing the commander forever.

Quickly grabbing the long-desired sword, Siegfried cried out in mock-sorrow and fear "The commander has been killed! Retreat, RETREAT!"

Hurrying away from the body, the shouts and curses of Ostrheinsburg's soldiers told Siegfried that his plan was a success. He sprinted to the woods, laughing gleefully at his success, dishonorable as it was.

Just as he reached the edge of the forest, he heard a voice shout out from the battlefield.

"Siegfried!"

He turned back toward the fray, to see Samuel looking at him with a look of terrible sadness, horror and betrayal.

"Why?"

But as soon as he said this, no longer concentrating, an enemy mounted foe swung his hammer into Samuel's body, tossing him away with a sickening crunch. His path clear, Siegfried stole into the safety of the woods.

Cackling madly, he ran deeper and deeper, ever southward. When he could no longer hear the sounds of battle, he came to a stop near a fallen oak tree.

He stood, gasping for breath, gazing hungrily at the gleaming, blood-stained blade.

"Now…father. Now, I can avenge your death on the bastard who killed you! Now, I shall make everything whole again!"

He thrust the sword into the sky.

"Oh, Sword of Heroes! I, Siegfried Schtauffen, by might and by right beseech you to grant me your power!"

He waited, expectantly.

But nothing happened.

"Give me your power, sword!" Siegfried commanded again, but the grove was silent save the chirping of birds and his own ragged breath.

He cursed loudly and ran his hands over the blade, searching for a symbol or mark to guide him, but he found nothing.

As he ran his bare hands over the sword, he noticed that the blade felt oddly rough. He looked closely at the blade, then at his hands.

The palms of his hands were encrusted with tiny shiny specks. Upon close examination, he found that the sword was similarly coated.

Grimblade was not a magical, glowing sword, but merely a blade forged with ordinary, vanity-inspired crystals.

The realization thudded through Siegfried's mind: this was not the Sword of Heroes.

It was not the blade he was seeking. It would not help him get revenge.

It would not bring his father back.

"AAARRRGGGHHH!" Siegfried screamed at the canopy of trees, completely mad with rage and frustration. In his anger he swung Grimblade into trees and rocks everywhere, roaring in fury at his foolishness.

In a short time, the blade snapped in half against a boulder. Siegfried then hurled the useless hilt into the woods, still screaming. He fell to his knees, overcome by his anger and with a terrible, painful despair.

"Father….father…." he sobbed on the ground. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…father, forgive me for my foolishness and weakness…."

After a long time Siegfried's sobs and cries of rage ceased. He stood up, and shouldered Faust upon his shoulder, his eyes filled with the determination and wrath of the truly insane.

"I WILL find the Sword, I will! No matter how long it takes, it WILL be mine! And when I have it…everything will be right again…"

He stalked deeper into the woods, muttering over and over: "Everything will be right again…"

_Man, long chapter. For me at least. The Ostrheinsburg arc closes for now, and the next chapter will finally introduce some of the other fighters of Soul Edge. Until next time, read well!_


	9. Alliance

Azure

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Soul game series, they are the property of Namco.**

_Hehe, just when you think writer's block is defeated it only comes back. Of course, summer break and all its distractions doesn't help. However, at least I have something. I hope I won't delay like this anymore. I'll be doing a sweep and revision of my work so far soon, so let me know if things need cleaning up._

**Part Two: Soul Edge**

**V: Alliance **

"Hot day today, isn't it Coris?"

"Aye, very hot. Too hot for field work, Alpalto"

The two men worked their potato fields day in, day out, every day. They'd been doing so for twenty years, since they were children, and they knew they would until they died.

Such was the life of a commoner in northern Italy during the summer time.

Working the fields near the roads leading south-west often allowed one to see all sorts of strange sights; huge caravans of traders heading to the ports, royalty en route to Paris, and odd groups of travelers returning from the holy land.

That day, however, Coris and Alpalto saw one of their strangest sights.

As the noon sun began to trek west, a lone figure could be seen plodding down the road. The sun glinted and glimmered on the distant figure, but the two farmers paid no mind; crusaders were fairly common.

As the figure got closer, however, the farmers became more interested; this knight wore red. Red was a sign of nobility, and if this noble was wandering without a guard or even a horse, he'd probably be a ransomed son of a king, captured by his foes and sold back to his own side in disgrace.

But when the figure was close enough to make out the features of his face, however, the curiosity turned to horror.

The man wore red, indeed. Armor, caked with red blood. Once blonde hair, plaited into a single macabre braid with the life of god only knew what.

The two farmers passed a terrified look between each other; the man was mad, and probably a murderer.

They looked down to their work, trying very hard to look like boring stones. They could hear the man clanking down the road, growing louder and louder.

The clanking stopped, and the two farmers froze in terror.

After a moment, it continued, now growing fainter.

The two farmers looked up to see the man now continuing down the road, his eyes never leaving the horizon. His huge sword strapped to his back made regular bouncing motions in the harness, and the plodding of his steps was perfectly regular, never once losing their pattern.

When the knight was out of sight, Coris and Alpalto looked at one-another.

"Don't suppose you've heard of such a person from up north?" Alpalto asked.

Coris shook his head. "Not to my knowledge. If anyone has met such a demon face-to-face, I imagine they would be too dead to talk."

The two shook their heads and continued to plow.

'Where am I going?' Siegfried asked himself again as he lay down beside the fire, chewing reflectively on a leg of lamb he'd stolen from a pen near sundown. He'd been walking steadily south and west for what felt like years, but had actually been about five months. The weather was much warmer, the vegetation and animal life far more plentiful. That was the positive.

The negative was that he no longer understood anything anyone said to him. He'd left Germany long ago. Whenever he tried to speak, he was looked upon as a simpleton. When he kept his silence, he was regarded as simply mad.

'Perhaps I am mad…' he thought, looking at his armor, horrifically bloodstained and rusty. Most of it was animal blood…most of it.

He was a true wanderer, having no purpose or goal other than going as far as he could towards the horizon. When he reached the sea, as he knew he would eventually, he would plan a new course.

Until then, he would keep walking.

The sword was out there…somewhere.

He would find it.

He stroked his now ridiculously long, unkempt beard and sighed. 'I could probably make another fire from the twigs in it….' Siegfried thought, and chuckled humorlessly to himself.

Rolling over, he fell asleep instantly, as usual.

Unusually, he woke up before dawn.

A snapping of twigs…unsteady and choppy. Someone was walking off the path, and fairly quickly.

Siegfried grabbed the hilt of Faust and drew it from the scabbard as he stood. The blade shone in the light of the dying fire and the moon; it alone was as well-kept for as when he was at Ostrheinsburg.

Siegfried held Faust before him, waiting and listening.

Out of the brush burst a young woman with blonde hair. She was tall for a woman, nearly five and a quarter feet tall. She was fair of skin, and dressed in a plain light blue tunic.

Most intriguing was the full breastplate concealed under the clothing, along with the shield on her back and the sword at her side.

Most unusual indeed.

The two caucasian wanderers had barely made eye contact when Siegfried noticed that the crashing in the brush had not stopped, but was instead getting louder and louder.

The blonde woman suddenly screamed and lunged at Siegfried, tackling him. Absolutely surprised, Siegfried went down on his back. He was even more surprised when four large knives embedded themselves in a tree directly above him.

Out of the brush burst five men in dark clothing and covered faces. They did not utter a single sound as they raced forward to confront Siegfried and the blonde woman.

The woman bounded to her feet and drew her blade and shield, holding them in a peculiar fencing pose Siegfried was unfamiliar with. As two of the dark-clothed men drew near she seemed almost to dance to one side as she made several quick slashes with her sword. Both men continued on for another pair of steps before collapsing to their knees, heavy gashes bleeding fiercely from their torso and neck.

Deciding that the woman with the deadly swordplay was probably an ally, at least for the moment, Siegfried decided to assist with eliminating the dark-clothed men. He pivoted on a planted foot as he stood, sending his zweihander into a large arc of centrifugal force. The force and speed of the strike was enough to cleave the unlucky foe bearing down on him in two at the waist.

The remaining pair of assassins flipped acrobatically away from the melee, evidently planning to reassess the situation and possible opt for ranged combat. As they landed, however, they simply keeled over backwards, making pained choking sounds. Siegfried cautiously advanced on the writhing bodies as they slowly went still.

Their throats had been impaled by knives, similar to the ones thrown at Siegfried mere seconds ago.

Was there a traitor amongst them? A greedy bounty hunter who had decided to make do without his comrades?

If so, the threat was not over.

Siegfried quickly turned to face the knife-stuck tree and the blond woman, who was wiping her blade clean of blood on the grass. She was oddly incautious, considering the fact that she could not know if the danger had passed...

"Yamero, gaijin."

Siegfried felt cold steel upon his throat. He tried to break away but found that he was pinned firmly from behind. Craning his head to one side he saw that another woman had snuck up from behind him, one of darker skin than the one nonchalantly cleaning her sword.

The blonde woman suddenly seemed to notice Siegfried again.

"AH! Matte, chotto matte, Taki-san!" the woman cried out, the strange syllables falling incoherently upon Siegfried's ears. He was trying hard not to panic: he had been completely caught off guard from the very beginning, and his lack of caution was going to cost him his life.

He felt the other woman's grip relax slightly, ever so slightly, to allow him enough room to speak freely and not slit his throat against the knife.

"Nihongo o hanashimasu ka?" the blonde woman asked him, rather too cheerfully, it seemed to Siegfried. He cocked his head to one side, trying to figure out what nonsense language the woman was speaking.

"Parli Italiani?" the woman asked, in a totally different accent and syllable set.

"Sprechist Duetch?" she asked, this time totally clearly.

"Ja!" responded, feeling both awestruck and relieved that the woman knew her tongue, somehow.

"Ah, a German." The woman said, in perfect German. "That explains your pale skin."

The blonde woman then looked at the other grappling Siegfried and rattled off a long series of the odd, flowing sounds she had been speaking earlier. Siegfried felt the grip behind him slacken, then let go completely.

Leaping away and turning in mid-air, Siegfried brought his blade to bear against his assailant, preparing to cut the woman down for the crime of catching him at her mercy.

"No, stop! I didn't have her free you so you could kill her!" the blonde woman yelled, jumping in between the two. "You wouldn't be able to kill her anyway, she's far too good a _kunoichi._"

"A what?" Siegfried asked, not really what the answer was. He heisitated before continuing, "Who the fuck are you two? Why were those men after you, and why did you attack me?"

The blonde woman looked startled for a moment, before suddenly giggling to herself. "I'm sorry, you're right. We've been rather rude. My name is Sophitia Alexandra of Greece, warrior of Hephaestus the Forge. This is my partner, Fu-Ma Taki, who comes from the Land of the Rising Sun, Nihon, a large island far off to the east. She is a professional assassin, and a very serious person. I've tried to tell her jokes but all she does is go 'hmph'".

Sophitia then crossed her arms and turned her face to one side, adopting a very grim, serious expression. The woman named Fu-Ma Taki simply stood stoically, as if no conversation were occurring. Siegfried felt fairly overwhelmed, and stared non-plussed at the odd young woman that was Sophitia.

Sophitia noticed his lack of reaction and frowned. "Damn, another one without a sense of humor. What a journey this has been…" She smiled at him. "But enough about me, who are you good sir?"

Siegfried felt himself lose his train of thought for a few seconds as he scrabbled to get a hold of himself: it had been ages since he had last participated in civil conversation, and never had it occurred among the corpses of mysterious assasins.

"I am Siegfried Schtauffen, from Germany. I am a wanderer and warrior, and I am grateful for your assistance in dispatching these," Siegfried made a condescending gesture at the scattered corpses. "However, my mission is one of solitude: I must continue on alone. Perhaps we shall meet again."

As he turned to gather his things and make camp elsewhere, he felt a light touch on his shoulder.

"Come on now, you owe us for saving your life. Also, we have fresh food, which by the looks of your rucksack you are quite low on." Sophitia said, jovially.

Siegfried looked appraisingly at his torn, dirty, and nearly empty sack, and nodded silently. He could have pressed the point and mentioned that the dark-clothed men would have never known he existed had Sophitia never come into the clearing, but such bull-headedness would be ungrateful.

"Very well. I will accept you hospitality, but for this night only. We should leave this place," Siegfried began, but noticed that the woman named Fu-Ma Taki was crouched over a small pile of tinder, sparking a fire.

"We do not leave to rot those who we must kill to continue our journey," Sophitia said softly, almost sadly. "They had families and friends, and should be sent to the Gods as proper humans, not left like animals."

Siegfried felt somewhat annoyed at this unnecessary sentimentality, but acquiesced to staying to burn the bodies of the dead. It took nearly an hour to build a large enough fire to consume the bodies, and another half hour after that as Sophitia gave benediction to the dead in her own Greek tongue. They left the bodies on the make-shift pier in silence, and did not stop until the flames were totally out of sight.

Now further along the road, the three travelers built a cooking fire and lay out their beddings, Sophitia acting as a translator for what little conversation occurred between Siegfried and Fu-Ma Taki.

Once the meal of roast rabbit and apples had been consumed, Sophitia began to explain her purpose to Siegfried. The only reason for going into such detail to a passing traveler, Siegfried thought, would be to convince him to join the party. The chances of that occurring were slim to none, but Siegfried listened politely to her exposition anyway.

"And I heard the voice of Hephaestus the Forge come from the altar, and it told me that I must go out into the world to find and destroy a weapon that He called Soul Edge."

Siegfried perked his attention. A weapon that threatened a God? He was not sure if this "Hephaestus" existed, but the woman seemed to be a true acolyte of faith: her unexplained fluency in so many languages seemed proof of that much, at least. If she could be entrusted such a task a god…

"This Soul Edge…what is it?" Siegfried asked.

"It is a powerful blade that is said to give its wielder immortality and super-human prowess in battle: no earthly weapon is supposed to be its equal." Sophitia said. "It has existed for thousands of years, and has gone by many names…the Sword of Heroes being an important one."

Siegfried froze, his mind reeling. This woman knew! She knew about the Sword! She was searching for it, hunting it down just as he had been!

"You know of the blade!?" Siegfried said, unable to control the shaking and excitement from his voice.

Sophitia seemed a bit perturbed at his reaction. "Yes, I do. Hephaestus the Forge told me of its history, including the…less savory details."

She looked Siegfried hard in the eye. "The sword is an evil blade, I was told. It corrupts people's souls for its own designs, and it has found another tool, a pirate named Cervantes de Leon, who was last seen in Spain. I have hired Taki as a bodyguard and assistant in my divine quest to destroy the accursed Soul Edge before it consumes more souls than it has. I would like you to help me, as well."

Siegfried carefully weighed his options. Sophitia was obviously a powerful woman, and was either blessed by divine guidance or else completely insane. The news of the Sword of Heroes, or Soul Edge as she called it, being evil perturbed him: could such a legendary weapon, one so extolled for its powers and virtues by generations of warriors, truly be evil?

To believe such a thing would make his journey an abomination, a misguided crusade with an insidious conclusion.

And to accept that, would mean breaking his oath of vengeance and forgiveness, to spit in the face of his father who was so wronged. Such a noble and honorable quest could not lead to such an ironic conclusion as an evil sword.

The woman had to be mistaken, Siegfried thought to himself, had to be mad.

And, more importantly, she had a destination and a name, something to go on. Even if it was a wild goose chance with a crazy woman, there was still a chance she was not completely misinformed.

She was a trusting, naïve girl: she could be tricked.

"I am sworn to defeat the evils I have witnessed in my past. Your goal is like to mine: I will accompany you to destroy this 'Soul Edge'.

Sophitia beamed happily, and relayed the news to her taciturn companion. Fu-Ma Taki merely nodded and prodded the fire.

The fire slowly died as the new allies said their good-nights. Siegfried rolled over to face away from the fire, partly to keep the light from distracting him, partly so he could grin to himself in triumph.

He had found his lead, finally.

And when Sophitia found the blade, Siegfried would take it…and kill her, along with the mysterious Fu-Ma Taki, for the glory of his father and himself.

_**PLEASE READ MY BIO FOR SOME IMPORTANT-ISH INFORMATION**_


	10. Westward

"Another hot one today, isn't it Coris?"

"Sure is Alpalto, sure is. No good for the potatoes, this weather."

"No, Coris, sure isn't. Gotta be colder for potatoes, you know."

"Yup Alpalto, it better start getting' cooler or we're in for trouble when it's time to harvest the little guys."

"Right you are Coris."

The two men bent to their labors, plucking pesky caterpillars from their precious potatoes and uprooting weeds, in companionable silence, until the sun started to reach its zenith.

"Say Alpalto," said Coris as he stood up to take a breather.

"What is it Coris?" Alpalto replied, taking a break as well.

"What do you think happened with that bloody madman from a few days back?"

Alpalto thought it over carefully, then spat into his potatoes.

"Nothing good Coris, nothing good. Fella like that's bad news no matter where he goes. I'm just glad he didn't stop by us."

"I reckon you're right Alpalto," Coris said.

"Why are you bringing that up anyway, Coris? Little spooked?"

Coris' red face grew a bit more flushed. "Well, maybe just a tad. He was real bad news Alpalto, you know."

"Sure was Coris, sure was. But I don't reckon we'll see him again. That kook's probably well to the west by now, if he survived this heat wave without shelter or help," Alpalto said, then crouched down to his potatoes again.

"Yeah, I guess you're right Alpalto," Coris said, and returned to his crop as well.

The men worked a short time before a noise disturbed their thoughtless labor. It was a sweet noise, the sound of a young lady chattering happily from the east. The men looked up from their work to greet the lovely traveler, but another sound made their flushed cheeks turn ashen grey.

The clanking of heavy armor.

"Oh dear God, Alpalto, it can't be," Coris said, a tremble in his voice.

Alpalto peered east, shading his eyes from the sun. "…I don't know, Coris…this one is not red," he said. "But that stature. And that sword…there's two women with him."

Coris looked as well, and saw that, indeed, there was no crimson knight, but a knight in gleaming armor instead, with washed and long blonde hair and a clean-shaven face, coming up the road from the west. Beside him was a blonde and lovely young lady, wearing bright clothing and a small sword and shield. Behind them both was a serious-faced but equally beautiful woman, black hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a skin-tight body suit.

The knight carried a massive blade. While he looked almost nothing like that terrible crimson figure, and seemed the picture of nobility, the sword condemned him. It had to be the same man.

But now he traveled with two women, and was cleansed and pure.

As the man and the two women drew closer, Coris noticed one more detail that chilled his heart.

The man's eyes were dead, but for a glimmer of something mad, a mixture of hunger and hope.

Just like the crimson knight that haunted Coris' dreams since he saw him.

The young and pretty girl chattered in a rough tongue Coris did not know, and occasionally the man would nod and make some curt reply. By and by, the party ignored the two farmers and continued on west.

They passed out of sight, the pleasant sounds of the girl and the tell-tale sound of full plate fading away to be replaced with the typical chittering of insects in the late summer of northern Italy.

Coris and Alpalto watched the western horizon for a long time. No figures appeared again.

"I'm worried for those girls, Alpalto," Coris said.

"Me too Coris, me too," Alpalto replied. "That nice young girl shouldn't be hanging around a man like that."

"He's cleaned up, but he's the same man as before Alpalto, sure he is," Coris said.

"Aye, that he is Coris, and no mistake. Those ladies had best be watching themselves after dark if they travel with a man like that," Alpalto said.

"They look tough for ladies though, Alpalto. Maybe they'll be all right."

"Maybe, Coris, maybe. I sure hope so." Alpalto said.

The men did not speak anymore that day. For a few weeks after, Coris had more terrible dreams of a man in full plate, wielding a great sword, bringing great calamity with him. The man in his dreams wore blue armor, however, not red or white. Coris was puzzled for a time, until the dreams faded, and he forgot all about them.


End file.
